


Not The Marrying Kind

by wendymarlowe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Forced Marriage, Magical Creatures, Marriage, Severus Snape is a good kisser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 31,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/pseuds/wendymarlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione tries to save Professor Snape's life - and accidentally ends up with a much bigger commitment than she bargained for!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first try at a multi-part story, so bear with me :-) It's set at Hogwarts sometime around Hermione's sixth year. Major plot hook shamelessly stolen from the game "Magical Diary," which is available from Hanako Games and is a fantastic game based on a thinly-veiled first-year experience at a Hogwarts-like school. I highly recommend it.

Hermione was on her way to Hagrid’s cottage when she found the wand. A dozen steps later she found-

“Professor Snape!”

He was splayed awkwardly on the ground, face-down, flailing weakly and gasping for air. Hermione grabbed the wand and ran to put it in his hand. “Professor - do you need help? What happened? Are you-”

She didn’t see the circle traced in the grass until she was already across it. She was still a hand’s-breadth away from putting his wand into his grasping hand when she started choking on the noxious smell in the air. She doubled over, coughing, but something landed on her back and knocked her flat before she could catch her breath. Something with sharp heels, which it dug gleefully into her sides as she frantically tried to fill her lungs. The creature giggled madly, the sound a high-pitched hum in the chilly evening air. Hermione forced her head around so she could see Professor Snape - and immediately saw what had to be a second creature sitting on his back as well. Something with long limbs and a grotesquely contorted body, which kept fading in and out of view . . .

“Here now, stop that!”

Hagrid’s booming voice cut through the buzzing in Hermione’s ears. She felt the oppressive cloud ease a bit - not all the way, but enough she could draw in a strangled breath. Somewhere in her peripheral vision she saw the toes of Hagrid’s immense boots stop just short of the inscribed circle.

“They’re higglewumps, Hermione!” Hagrid yelled - totally unnecessary since he was practically right next to her, but the noise roused her a little bit more. “You gotta - here, repeat after me! _Silimus clevari cadarenti nostarum!_ ”

Hermione tried to shout the words back, but all she managed was a whisper. Still, that should count, right?

“You too, Professor!” Hagrid boomed as he circled around to where Professor Snape could see him. “Give your pledge!”

Professor Snape narrowed his eyes at Hagrid, but he gasped out a similar string of syllables. And immediately the pressure on Hermione’s back vanished. She dragged in a deep breath and turned to thank Hagrid-

But the creature on Professor Snape’s back wasn’t getting up. Hermione realized she was still holding his wand in addition to her own, so she nudged the end of it into his hand. Professor Snape muttered something under his breath, flicked the wand weakly, and suddenly the circle and the creatures and the oppressive smell were just - gone. He got to his feet, breathing heavily.

“What exactly did you think you were doing, Miss Granger?” Professor Snape asked.

Hagrid cut in before she could answer. “Pretty obvious, that - she was trying to save your life.”

“My life was perfectly safe.”

Hagrid snorted. “You had two higglewumps on your back and they managed to disarm you, Professor. How did you come by higglewumps, anyway? That’s one creature I’ve always wanted-”

Professor Snape gave him a withering look. “They serve pureblood families, Hagrid.”

“-which is why I never thought I’d have a chance to get so close to one. Lords, Hermione! What did it feel like?”

“The real question is,” Professor Snape interrupted, “what are we to do now?”

Hermione jumped in before either of them could interrupt her again. “I, for one, would like to go back to my room and go to bed. Hagrid, I was coming by to say hello, but I think that was about all the excitement I can take for one evening.”

Professor Snape suddenly looked uncomfortable. “It’s . . . not that simple, Miss Granger.”

Hagrid cleared his throat.

“Sorry. _Mrs. Snape._ ”

Hermione blinked at him. Hagrid was backing away, obviously unwilling to explain, but -

“One of you better tell me what’s going on,” she said with as much authority as she could muster. “What was that spell, Hagrid, for one?”

“It was, ah . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck. “A wedding vow, actually. Only way to rescue you from the higglewump. Bound to you now and all.”

Hermione could feel her mouth drop open, but she couldn’t be bothered to close it. She turned to Professor Snape for clarification, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Higglewumps are bound to pureblood houses, much like house elves,” Professor Snape said quietly. “Those two came to me recently from my mother’s line. I’m sure Hagrid was only trying to help.”

“But what happened?” she demanded.

“You joined my house,” he said with a hint of a sneer. “Those were marriage vows, as you would have already known had you been listening. Happy wedding day, wife.”

Hermione didn’t feel her legs buckling under her, just saw a sudden motion out of the corner of her eye and then Hagrid was lowering her onto the grass.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione,” he said with real tears in his eyes. “Once a Higglewump traps you, you’re caught for good. Even if you manage to shake it off, it has gained the - magical right, I suppose? - to hunt you. It can get past all sorts of magical barriers to catch you again. Including those at Hogwarts.” He looked up at Professor Snape. “I assume that’s how they got onto the grounds, Professor?”

The professor nodded curtly. “That one . . . knocked me down once when I was a child, visiting my grandparents’ house. It has come after me on occasion ever since. I got word the two were tired of waiting for me and were coming to Hogwarts through the forest, so I came to head them off, so to speak. I . . . was not expecting them to be lying in wait.”

“But why did you trick us into getting . . .” Hermione couldn’t force herself to finish the sentence.

“Married?” Professor Snape asked acidly. “I would like to know the same thing. Surely you could have helped her temporarily, Hagrid?”

Hagrid shook his head. “You may know potions and dark arts and whatnot, but I know my magical creatures. And Miss Granger - sorry, Mrs. Snape - wouldn’t last a week once those things were after her, even here. Sorry, Hermione,” he added, “but it’s true. The only way to keep them from killing you was to become part of the house they serve. And since they had only winded Professor Snape and hadn’t actually killed him, I knew they must be bound to him. His house. And now they’re bound to you.”

“But I don’t want to be married!”

Professor Snape sneered. “That makes two of us, Miss Granger.”


	2. Chapter 2

The walk back to the castle was awkward and mostly silent. Hermione felt like she ought to ask more questions, but Professor Snape seemed intent on stalking ahead of her, his robes swishing in the quiet evening air, and she didn’t feel quite brave enough to break into a run to catch up alongside him.

He broke the silence first, as they reached the main hallway and she turned to go toward the Gryffindor tower.

“Not that way - your new quarters will be along here.”

_New quarters - surely he doesn’t expect we’ll . . ._

But apparently he did, because he led her down a passage on the other side of the great hall and then through two more hallways she had never noticed before ( _or do they only appear for teachers?_ she wondered) until they reached a quiet wing overlooking the greenhouse. Professor Snape held his hand over the knob of a nondescript door tucked back into an alcove and muttered something. The door swung open on its own, revealing his lair.

“Lair” really felt like the best term for it, Hermione decided as she stepped inside. She wasn’t sure what she expected Snape’s rooms to look like - lots of dark paneling and bubbling potions flasks and creepy tchotchkes, perhaps? Instead, she found herself in a sparsely decorated but meticulously clean parlor. An uncomfortable-looking sofa and armchair combination dominated one end of the room, while a much more well-loved recliner formed the focus of a reading nook at the other end. The walls were almost entirely lined in bookcases, most of which were packed to bursting.

Hermione couldn’t help but look more closely at the nearest shelf. And it caught her by surprise.

“Science fiction?”

Professor Snape shrugged. “I do read for pleasure on occasion, Miss Granger. No, I can’t call you that. And since I definitely can’t call you by your new name, I shall choose to refer to you directly as little as possible.”

Hermione cleared her throat. “You could call me Hermione?”

“I could not.”

She supposed he was right - she’d never be able to call him “Severus.” But she did still have more questions, and she really did need to know . . .

“So what now?” She hated the thread of insecurity in her voice, but it had been a trying enough day as it was - the reason she was going to visit Hagrid in the first place, to talk out her frustrations - and at this point it didn’t seem to matter whether Professor Snape knew she was near her breaking point. “Do I have to live here now? When can I go back? What happens next? Are we really _married?_ ”

“Yes, not for a while, we fetch Dumbledore, and unfortunately yes again,” he replied acidly. “Headmaster Dumbledore will need to oversee an exchange to seal the marriage pact, first. Then we will go retrieve your things and move them here - my quarters are the size I need them for just myself, but I’m sure we can make some accommodations. The rest can be discussed after the pact is finalized.”

Hermione felt a flutter of hope. “What if we don’t finalize it? Can we pretend it never happened?”

He looked down his nose at her. “Then the higglewumps will have free reign to kill you when they catch you. Which they will.”

The hope died as quickly as it had been born. “Is there such thing as a magical divorce?” she asked in a small voice.

“Yes, thank the spirits,” he said. “Which is why I will endeavor to teach you how to fight higglewumps as quickly as possible. We can remove ourselves from this farce as soon as I either remove the threat to you or you learn how to hold your own.”

Hemione swallowed. Not that she was afraid to face them again, but . . . Snape had been bested, hadn’t he? What were her chances, against something which could do that?

“Stay here,” he commanded. “I’ll be back in a moment with the Headmaster.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dumbledore was smiling when he entered the room several minutes later, followed by a glowering Professor Snape. “This is not a celebration, Albus!” Professor Snape grumbled as he shut the door behind them.

“Nonsense - a wedding is a celebration by definition, no matter the cause,” Dumbledore replied lightly. “I understand the circumstances are unfortunate, but I tender my congratulations to you both.”

Hermione forced a weak smile.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Professor Snape said. “How much of the ceremony is strictly necessary?”

Dumbledore looked off into the distance for a long moment. “We can skip the incantation, since you’ve already done that. Traditionally there is some sort of luck charm cast by the well-wishers-”

“Skip that too.”

“In that case, I believe just the exchange and the binding. Do you have rings?”

Professor Snape glared at him, but Dumbledore looked unperturbed.

“Do I have to wear a ring?” Hermione asked. It was one thing to go along with this “wedding” up to a point, but a _ring_ . . . it felt too permanent.

“It doesn’t have to be a ring,” Dumbledore replied, “but it does need to be something you can wear at all times except for hygiene purposes. The exchanged object acts as a focal point for the binding spell.”

Professor Snape scowled, but disappeared through a doorway on the far side of the parlor and returned with a short length of twine. He twisted it into a loop and quickly tied a knot, severing the loose ends with a swipe of his wand. “I assume a bracelet will do?” he asked.

Hermione fought back tears which were suddenly threatening to overwhelm her. She knew she didn’t want this, didn’t want a ring, didn’t want _him_ , but here he was offering her a piece of rubbish in place of what in other circumstances might be the most emotionally important thing she owned.

 _No, I won’t do that to him._ Inspiration struck. She ran her fingers through her hair (which was a thoroughly frizzy mess as usual) and combed out several strands. They looked like they would - yes, they were long enough. Hermione twisted them together and tied a knot just as Professor Snape had. The resulting “bracelet” was just as ugly as the one he was offering her, but at least it wasn’t something she had pulled out of the rubbish bin.

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said. “Now the exchange - you first, Severus. This is the time to make your pledge, if you wish to do so.”

“I do not.” Professor Snape took Hermione’s hand and slid the loop of twine over her wrist. It magically tightened to fit just over her wristbone - loose enough to move freely but tight enough it wouldn’t fall off. It itched.

“Now you, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said, and she slid the hair bracelet over her husband’s wrist. It didn’t tighten magically, but it looked reasonably secure.

“Do you want to make a pledge?” Dumbledore nudged.

“Ah . . . what am I expected to pledge?”

“I expect nothing,” Professor Snape snapped.

Dumbledore talked over him as if he hadn’t spoken. “Most witch and wizard couples pledge love and support, of course, and some choose to include spells and incantations to bind themselves more deeply. It’s up to each couple.”

Hermione could feel herself redden. “I really . . . no, I can’t . . . I pledge to learn about higglewumps as fast as I can. Does that count?”

“It will do admirably,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “Now the binding.” He turned to face the window. “I’ll give you a moment of privacy.”

Hermione looked up at her husband. “Privacy?”

He glowered back. “For the kiss.”

“But I . . .” Hermione took a reflexive step backward. “Do we have to?”

“There is another way, but most couples prefer privacy for that particular act.”

She could feel her face flame. She couldn’t bring herself to think about _that_ in the same context as Professor Snape - her husband - it was -

He stalked a step closer, than another. Hermione’s back bumped up against the edge of the recliner. His long fingers brushed her chin, angling her face up toward his. His expression was still severe, but there was something dark and almost primal in his eyes . . .

The kiss, when it came, felt a bit anticlimactic - just a cool dry peck on her lips. She blinked up at him, her head still swimming from her nervousness. “Was - was that it?”

“Not good enough, Severus,” Dumbledore called from somewhere on the other side of the room. “The binding requires an exchange, and that tepid peck doesn’t qualify.”

“An exchange?” Hermione whispered.

Her husband looked almost embarrassed. “Of bodies, such as . . . forces with properties of life, or rather . . .”

“Exchanging saliva, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore helpfully supplied.

“Oh.” Her weak reply felt like it echoed in the tiny parlor.

“Damn it,” Professor Snape muttered. His fingers traced the underside of her jaw, and Hermione suppressed a shiver. And then he was there again, his hair swinging forward to obscure her vision, his lips pressed against hers . . .

This kiss was as different from the last one as a dementor from a sunny afternoon. His hand slid around the back of her neck, anchoring her head under his, and Hermione felt her spine giving way as he gently teased a response out of her. She felt the sleek cloth of his robe under her fingers and realized her hand had stolen around to cup his shoulderblade sometime when she wasn’t paying attention. He nudged forward a tiny bit, increasing the pressure, until the most natural thing in the world was to open her lips and kiss back.

And she was immediately swamped with sensation. Whatever else she might think about her now-husband, he was _good_ at this. Very good. He tasted faintly of mint and something sweet . . . Hermione sighed into his mouth and let herself get lost in the kiss.

It seemed like an eternity later when he finally withdrew. Hermione swallowed hard at the intense look in his eyes as he dropped his hand from where it had been cradling the base of her skull. She suddenly felt a burning need to study the Hogwarts pin at his throat.

“That’s that, then,” came Dumbledore’s voice from his careful stance near the window. “Congratulations to you both, and best of luck with the higglewumps. I will do what I can to ensure you get as much warning as possible if they come back.”

“They will.” Professor Snape’s voice sounded unusually husky.

“Possibly,” Dumbledore said. “But in the meantime, I will leave the two of you - you must have many things to discuss.” And there was a rustle of robes and the sound of the door opening and closing.

Hermione might well have stayed there frozen all day if she hadn’t felt the warm tingling around her wrist. She drew a shaky breath and glanced down to the twine bracelet - was it actually glowing?

Professor Snape drew back the sleeve of his robe to show her the loop of hair she had tied for him - it was glowing faintly around his wrist also.

“That’s it then,” he said. “Welcome to the Snape family line.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Do you wish to retrieve your things now?” Professor Snape asked.

“Yes - no. I suppose.” She retreated to the armchair and let her shaky legs collapse. The chair was just as uncomfortable as it looked. “I just want to curl up in bed and cry, but apparently I don’t even have a bed to call my own at the moment.” He had made it clear she was expected to stay here in his quarters . . . somewhere . . . _Lord, don’t make me share a bed with him!_ “I really don’t want to have to explain this to everyone else,” she admitted.

His expression softened. “I regret that marriage to me makes you cry,” he said.

“I’m sorry - I didn’t mean-”

He cut her off. “Understandable given the circumstances. Would you prefer I call Professor McGonagall to explain to the other Gryffindors and to bring your things here?”

It was the coward’s way out, but . . . “Yes, please.”

“Then come.” He led her through the door he had used earlier, and Hermione found herself in a large bedroom. She vaguely noticed the bureau and wardrobe, but her attention was captured by the enormous four-poster bed. She had never given much thought to where her professors slept, and seeing the giant monstrosity made her idly wonder where Dumbledore slept - something this grandiose? Or would he prefer a whimsical bunkbed with cartoons on the sheets? Some part of her recognized she was desperately scrambling for something to think about other than-

Professor Snape cleared his throat. “You will sleep here for as long as we’re _married_.” He added extra inflection on the word. “I will understand if you need a few moments alone - I’ll go get Minerva and explain the situation. I won’t be gone long.”

Hermione swallowed. “Does this mean we have to . . .”

“No. I will sleep in the armchair, as I have done many times in the past. We will need to keep the door open, though, so I can hear if . . . something happens.”

_If the higglewumps get in_. He didn’t need to say it - nightmares about that creature suffocating her would stay with her for a long time. She forced herself to nod.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione hated crying, but it felt good to let some of that pent-up emotion out somehow. By the time Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall returned, she had more or less managed to dry her cheeks and regain some semblance of her dignity. Professor McGonagall surprised her by crossing over to where she was sitting on the bed and giving her a fierce motherly hug.

“You’re a strong girl,” she whispered into Hermione’s hair. “I know you’ve had your differences, but Severus is a good man. I trust him to protect my students, and I trust him to treat you with respect until you’re freed from this muddle. There’s no reason to be afraid of him.”

Professor Snape was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching them with narrowed eyes. “Please endeavor to remember that I’m a victim of this too, Minerva.”

She raised her head to look at him, still keeping her arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “Not as much as Miss Granger. She’s the one having to live with you.”

He harumphed, but declined to comment further. “Professor McGonagall packed a bag with your things,” he said, refusing to address Hermione directly. “Use what space you need, although I would appreciate if you could avoid making my entire bedroom and lavatory . . . girly.”

“I suppose I can do without my posters of the Weird Sisters and the Chudley Cannons,” she replied acerbically. “Would pink glittery unicorn stickers on the headboard be too much, do you think?”

He threw up his hands and retreated to the parlor, leaving Hermione and Professor McGonagall to unpack the two bags of robes, books, and other miscellaneous items. It didn’t take more than a few minutes. Hermione gave the bureau a long look, but putting her clothes alongside his seemed too intimate, somehow. Not to mention, she really didn’t want to see what else he owned - her mental picture of him in his regular robes was quite enough. She eventually opted to fold her clothes neatly and stack them back in one of the bags.

“Will you be all right now?” Professor McGonagall asked. “I did explain to the Gryffindors what happened - an edited version - so you won’t need to tell the story when you see them in classes tomorrow. And I trust they will spread the word to the other houses by the end of breakfast, so I doubt you will be caught out by anyone not knowing. For good or for ill, there was really no way to prevent that.”

“Yes, I understand.” And she did, more or less - this wasn’t the sort of secret you could hide, no matter how much she might have liked to. “I appreciate your support - I think I’ll be okay now.”

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips and nodded, but she left the room. There was a long pause before Hermione heard the door to the parlor close, in which Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape conversed in hushed tones, but Hermione chose to take the time to race through her nighttime routine and get under the covers before Professor Snape could see her in her nightgown. It was bound to happen eventually, if she was going to be staying here for several days (weeks?), but it would have been one embarrassing thing too many for tonight.

There was finally the sound of a door, and a moment later Professor Snape was once again standing in the doorway to the bedroom. “I’ll leave this open,” he said quietly.

“All right.”

She expected him to leave, or to go pull pajamas out of the bureau, but he just stood in the doorway and studied her. It was the same assessing stare he used in class, and Hermione had to force herself not to squirm.

“I am sorry your first experience with marriage had to be like this,” he finally admitted after a long minute. “You’re a brave young woman and you deserve better.”

“I . . . thank you?” she stammered.

He flashed her a flat smile. “Try to think of this as a particularly extended lesson in how to deal with higglewumps.”

_Right - those._ “When . . . when will we start?” she asked. “Are there books about them in the library? I want to learn as fast as I can.”

“Tomorrow.” He bowed his head. “I’ll give you tonight to recover from your ordeal today. But tomorrow we both need to be ready to work when we can. We won’t interrupt your studies, of course, and I have classes as well, but - when are you free?”

“Eleven o’clock and then at two.”

He nodded. “I have a double of first-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws at one, but I’ll meet you shortly after eleven. Back here, I think - we shouldn’t need anything from the library I don’t have already.”

Hermione swallowed. “What about the higglewumps? Will they look for me while I’m in my classes?”

“Possibly, but Headmaster Dumbledore has assured me he will personally notify all your professors of the possibility. They will walk you between classes, so you will at no time be without a professor present.” One side of his mouth twitched. “It’s not perfect, but it will have to be enough.”

_I suppose it will have to be._


	6. Chapter 6

The noises woke her almost instantaneously. A muted shuffling, then a muffled moan from the parlor, followed by two loud thumps. Hermione’s feet were on the floor before she even realized what she was about to do - but by then she was in the doorway, wand in hand.

Her husband was stretched out in the recliner in the almost-dark, struggling weakly against-

“ _Relashio! Specialis revelio!_ ” Hermione pointed at the air above Professor Snape’s chest, where she assumed the now-invisible higglewump must be, and fired off the two spells in quick succession. She prayed the reveal spell worked on magical creatures as well as on magical objects, but there was no time to search her memory for something more applicable.

The bookshelf behind the recliner exploded, sending books flying in all directions. Professor Snape bolted upright, wand instantly in his hand. “Miss Granger! What is - _lumos!_ ”

The beam of light from his wand wavered slightly, then brightened until only the corners of the parlor were still in shadow. Hermione held her breath, listening - but the room was silent except for her hammering heart.

“Were you attacked?” he asked.

 _A mistake._ Mortification washed over her. “I thought they were attacking you,” she offered lamely. “I heard . . . something.”

He studied her hard for a long moment, then his jaw tightened. He lit the candle on the end table next to him with an economical flick of his wand. The lumos spell disappeared, leaving the room bathed in only the light from the flickering candle flame.

“My apologies for awakening you,” he finally said. “You’re young - you need your sleep.”

Hermione shook off the dismissal. He didn’t seem mad at her, and she was entirely too unsettled to go back to bed. Instead she dragged the ottoman over from the armchair and sat herself on it a few feet away from the recliner. He arched an eyebrow at her, but didn’t question it. And now that she was all prepared for a midnight chat, she found she didn’t know what to say.

“Was it a bad dream?” she finally asked.

He nodded infinitessimally.

“About the higglewump?”

“No.” He looked away, his eyes unfocused. “He Who Must Not Be Named is . . . busy. It is unpleasant.”

Hermione couldn’t prevent her eyes from flicking down to the dark mark he carried on his arm, just above the marriage bracelet. He noted her gaze and rubbed at the mark with his other hand.

“Does it hurt?”

One shoulder twitched upward in a half-shrug. “At times. Mostly it itches. But sometimes, he just uses it to share news when he’s particularly pleased with himself. Tonight is one of those times.”

Hermione gradually became aware of the rest of her husband’s outfit. The reason she could see his dark mark in the first place was because he wasn’t wearing his customary robes. Instead, he lay in the recliner in only a plain white t-shirt and a plaid pair of flannel pajama pants. He didn’t prefer to use a blanket or a pillow when sleeping in his chair, apparently. The clothes should have looked awkward on him - they were awfully far from his austere school robes - but somehow he managed to make plaid flannel pajamas look dignified. It was . . . disconcerting. 

And yet he was still watching her with that cool, detatched expression. She cast around for a conversation topic, anything to end the awkward silence. Her thoughts lit upon the obvious.

“So what are higglewumps, exactly? I haven’t come across any in my reading so far.”

“That’s because there aren’t very many left, thank goodness,” he answered. “They’re bound to specific lines much like house-elves are, but . . . very different. They’re more like assassins.”

“Why would you want an assassin in your house?”

He snorted. “Most wizards wouldn’t, which is another reason why they’re so rare. Only a member of the house they serve can kill them. That, plus their ability to get past most magical barriers, makes them a formiddable enemy - if you’re their target, the best you can do is to stun them and hope you can get away.”

“But they attacked you . . .”

“Yes, but because they’re bound to serve my house, they couldn’t kill me. And can’t kill you, while you’re married. They can still be pretty painful, though.” He looked away. “As you perhaps saw.”

Hermione frowned. “Why would they attack you, though? Shouldn’t they, I don’t know, obey you or something?”

“Why would they want to do that?” He smiled mirthlessly. “As long as I’m the last of my line, I’m the only one who might be able to destroy them. And if they were to succeed in, say, cutting out my tongue so I can’t perform the proper spell, they’d be assured a long future of murder and destruction. At least until I sire an heir, if I were ever to do so.”

Her stomach turned at the thought. “And now they’ll think I’m . . .”

“. . . my first step in that direction?” he said. “Yes, that’s why you must learn to fight them as soon as possible. I’ve been too busy to hunt down two troublemaking higglewumps so far, but if they come to me - well, I have no use for higglewumps either.” He paused, giving her an assessing look. “This may make that task easier, actually. If they happen to get the upper hand with me again, it will be useful to have someone else capable of at least banishing them.”

 _He thinks I could only_ . . . “You don’t think I can learn to kill them?”

He bowed his head. “You are an extremely capable girl, Miss Gr-” He stopped himself and sighed. “I can’t call you that. I can’t call you Mrs. Snape. I can’t just refuse to address you. Would you accept being called by your given name until this is over?”

“I suppose that would be fine.”

“All right then. You are capable of many things, Hermione. I have no reason to question your bravery or your determination. But higglewumps are gory creatures, who live to do gory things, and I wouldn’t wish you to have to dip into the dark arts necessary to deal with them.”

_I may not have a choice._

He picked up a small clock from the table next to his chair and glanced at it. “It’s late. Could we resume this tomorrow?”

It took Hermione a long time to fall asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (worth noting: I don't really want to have to rehash the entire plot of books 6 and 7, so I'm assuming here that Hermione knows Snape is a good guy and at least suspects he might be only pretending for Voldemort's sake. Assume this is taking place in a fairly generic "Hogwarts as usual" point in the year.)


	7. Chapter 7

Harry and Ron caught Hermione before she even had a chance to sit down at breakfast.

“Is it true?” Ron asked. “Professor McGonagall said you got _married_ for some sort of spell!”

“It’s true.”

“Who’d you get married to?” Harry asked. “And why?”

Hermione glanced around to make sure nobody else was listening in. “Professor Snape,” she confessed. “Nobody told me what the words meant, just that I had to say them. I found out afterward. And as for why - apparently Professor Snape has two higglewumps and they tried to kill me.”

Ron’s jaw dropped. “You’ve got higglewumps after you?”

Harry elbowed him, hard. “More importantly, you’re married to _Snape?_ ”

Hermione shrugged back the sleeve of her robe just enough to show them the still-slightly-glowing bracelet. Ron grabbed her hand and twisted it this way and that, inspecting the twine. “Good Lord, Hermione, he didn’t even get you a ring, did he?”

She shrugged, pretending she didn’t care. “This is only temporary anyway. He said we just have to stay ‘married’ until he can kill off the higglewumps. In the meantime, I’m supposed to learn how to fight them.”

Harry’s forehead wrinkled, creasing his lightning-shaped scar. “I’m still confused why you’d have to marry him.”

Ron squeezed Hermione’s hand before letting go. “Higglewumps are bound to a specific pure-blood house, so they can’t kill anyone of that line. If they manage to catch you once and you’re not protected, though, they will keep coming after you.” He shuddered. “They don’t show up in magical history as much as you’d think, because they can turn invisible, but a lot of famous historical wizards died mysterious deaths in ways that look like someone could have sicced a higglewump on them. They’re assassins, and they’re damn near impossible to kill.”

“Great,” Hermione said. “I may be stuck being married forever.”

“Beats being dead,” said Ron with a weak attempt at a grin.

Harry looked at him. “So if you had to choose between dying and marrying Snape . . .”

A stricken look crossed Ron’s face. “God, Hermione, I’m so sorry!”

_Yeah, this will be fun._


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione was prevented from getting back to the room precisely at eleven, partly because she had no way to get in the door. It took her nearly half an hour of arguing with the paintings in the hallway before the castle deigned to allow her into the professors’ quarters, then several more minutes of wandering before she found Professor Snape’s door. Which had no lock, or keyhole. She tried holding her hand over the knob, as he had done the previous evening, but nothing happened. She guessed _alohomora_ wouldn’t work either -

“Are you planning to stand out here in the hallway all day?” Professor Snape said as he opened the door from the inside.

“Sorry - I couldn’t get it open.”

“Ah. My apologies - I should have done this last night. Put your hand here - no, not touching -”

Hermione tried to hover her hand over the doorknob like she remembered him having done before, but Professor Snape clucked his tongue and placed his hand over hers to adjust it. His grip was cool but firm. _He really does have incredibly long fingers,_ she noticed. And then wondered why on earth his touch brought a sudden flashback to their shared kiss. It’s not like she _wanted_ to kiss him again . . .

Professor Snape tapped the doorknob with his wand while holding her hand precisely in place. “ _Differendum repellat crinam._ There, now it will know to admit you when you put your hand exactly how you have it now.”

Hermione mumbled her thanks and ducked under his arm through the doorway, afraid she must be blushing. He had moved the sofa and armchair all the way to one side, against the bookshelves, leaving a hole in the center of the room. A pile of books sat on the side table next to the recliner. Hermione brushed her fingers over the blank cover of the topmost book and bent to read the words on the spine.

“‘ _A Brief Inventory of Wizarding Noble Houses and Their Creatures?'_ How old is this?”

“Around two hundred years, give or take.”

“And the higglewumps are in here?”

Something flashed across his face, too quick for her to read. “A few mentions,” he said. “I pulled out all the books I thought might refer to higglewumps, directly or indirectly, but they’ve never been a major topic of study.”

“That’s odd, considering - well, Ron said at breakfast that they were responsible for quite a few assassinations throughout wizarding history.”

He shrugged. “Almost none which were proven, though. Usually just speculation - the head of one house hates the head of another house and then the head of the other house dies suddenly. Hard to be conclusive whether it was higglewumps or a curse or something else entirely.”

Hermione eyed the worn book. “And the Snapes were a noble house two hundred years ago?”

“Princes.” He cleared his throat. “My mother’s side.”

She got the impression he wanted her to drop the subject, so she left the stack of books alone and sat on the couch instead. “Will we be researching, then?”

“Not yet.” Professor Snape stalked back and forth across the cleared section of the floor as he spoke. “It occurs to me that if we want to prevent the higglewumps from spying on you - from learning your class schedule and finding an optimal time to ambush you when I’m not nearby - we need to set you up with as many warning spells and protective charms as we can. The history lesson can wait.”

_Finally, something concrete to do!_ “I thought they can ignore most magical barriers, though?” she asked. “I mean, they got into Hogwarts, right?”

“They got through the forest, at least,” he admitted. “I don’t know yet whether they can get into the castle itself. Or rather, I assume they will eventually, but I don’t know how long it will take.”

“And that doesn’t help when I have to go out on the grounds,” Hermione said. “I don’t have Care of Magical Creatures until tomorrow afternoon, but . . .”

“Exactly.” He stopped pacing and pinned her with a thoughtful stare. “You haven’t cast any protective spells on yourself yet, have you?”

Hermione squirmed. “I - experimented a bit in charms class, but I couldn’t figure out how to cast anything long-lasting. I mostly just checked for invisible creatures.” _Every five minutes all morning._

“Just as well - I have a suspicion -” He moved to sit on the other end of the sofa, then conjured paper and a quill on the low table in front of them. “Because the higglewumps are only bound to you through . . . through our marriage . . . the spells might be stronger if I do them.”

“Locomotor higglewump.” The quill poised itself over the scroll and started transcribing his words. “Obscuro. Petrificus Totalis. Cave Inimicum. Feel free to suggest any others you think might help - we should make the list first and then figure out how to cue them to the appearance of a higglewump.”

Hermione thought. “Confundo, perhaps?” The quill dutifully wrote down _Confundo._ “Evanesco?”

“Good, both are possibilities. Hominem Revelio - I wonder if we could modify that to apply to magical creatures . . .”

They went through every spell they could possibly think of. Professor Snape mentioned several Hermione had never heard before. Her palms itched with the urge to go look them up and learn them, but now was not the time.

When the scroll was nearly full, Professor Snape vanished the quill and picked up the list. “Not all of these will work, of course, but I’m confident we can time-delay some of them to only cast if you’re in trouble.”

Hermione wasn’t so sure, but then she was only a sixth-year . . . “How will the spells know if I’m in trouble?”

He frowned. “The easiest way would probably be to assess your physical position. Higglewumps enjoy knocking their victims flat, so if you’re horizontal on your stomach . . .”

“. . . I might just have tripped in the hallway,” she finished. “I’d hate to curse any nearby students just because I was clumsy.”

He looked down his nose at her. “Then you’ll have an incentive to watch your step.”


	9. Chapter 9

“No, we’ll have to figure out something else.”

He blinked at her, looking surprised at her willingness to stand up to him. But Hermione was determined to make her own decision - she was not going to load herself up with dangerous spells and then just hope she didn’t accidentally lie down. _There must be another way . . ._

“Don’t you have any helpful potions or something?” she asked. “I sort of thought that was your specialty.”

He scowled. “I believe I have quite a bit more experience than you do in these matters, Miss- Hermione-”

“And I respect that,” she interrupted. “But I’m not willing to put other students at risk over this. And no matter how much you scowl, I don’t think you are either.”

He looked away for a long moment, then his shoulders deflated. “You’re right, and I apologize once again. I don’t think I have any potions that would . . . wait a moment.” He stood and strode into the bedroom, returning a minute later with a palm-sized black vial. He was frowning.

“What does it do?” she asked.

“It’s more of an all-purpose warning potion, and it’s frustratingly vague, but if it would make you feel better . . .”

Hermione eyed the vial. “Do I have to drink it? Does it taste awful?”

He let out a mirthless chuckle. “I believe it would, but you don’t drink it. It goes in your hair - come sit here on the footrest. That is, if you don’t mind me touching your head? It’s hard to do by yourself.”

He looked embarrassed to have made the offer, and that’s what made Hermione get up and sit on the ottoman in front of him. Somehow, knowing that this was just as awkward for him as it was for her made the situation a bit more bearable. She pulled the ponytail holder out of her hair and shook her head, self-consciously combing her fingers through the frizz to tame it a bit. She could feel him moving around behind her, could hear him uncork the vial and place it down on the table beside them, but she forced herself not to turn around. He made the suggestion, so it was up to him to-

His fingertips eased into the hair at the back of her head and it took all Hermione’s willpower not to sigh out loud. He massaged the potion into her scalp slowly, gently but methodically working his way down to the base of her neck and forward around to the sensitive spots behind her ears. The potion smelled a bit like black walnuts - not a scent she’d normally seek out, but nothing terrible either. He paused to get another palmful of potion, and this time when he resumed Hermione couldn’t help letting out a tiny moan at the feel of it.

“Hmmm?”

“Sorry,” she said. “That just feels fantastic. I guess I didn’t realize how tense I was.”

He didn’t answer, but he did keep massaging the potion into her hair for much longer this time before getting more. Hermione cast around for something to say, anything to break the awkward silence. “So how does it work, and why does it have to go on my head?”

“It doesn’t strictly have to,” he finally answered, “but it makes you grow hair anywhere you get it on your skin. If you don’t want to look like a werewolf during the full moon, you only put it on your scalp.” His thumbs probed a particularly sensitive spot at the base of her skull, and Hermione shivered and closed her eyes at the incredible sensation. _Even better than his kisses,_ a voice in the back of her head commented.

“How - how does it . . .” She tried to keep her voice even, but failed.

“It prickles when someone nearby wishes you harm,” he said quietly. “It can give you a massive headache by the end of the day, if you’re not careful, but at least you’ll know your sudden migraine has a cause.”

“Have you used this potion before?”

He huffed and withdrew from behind her. “Nearly every day. Sometimes paranoia is justified, Hermione.” The stopper squeaked as he stuck it back into the vial.

She turned to look up at him - and suddenly his perpetually greasy-looking hair made sense. If he used this potion all the time . . .

Hermione put a hand up to touch her own hair. It felt - not oily, exactly, but somewhat limp. And it smelled like black walnuts.

“One second.” She jumped up and ran to dig through her bag of toiletries in the bedroom. She was sure she saw Professor McGonagall unpack - yes, there it was. 

“Will conditioner hurt the potion?” she asked as she came back into the room.

He eyed the bottle in her hand. “Awareness potion won’t do anything if you wash it out right away, Hermione.”

“It’s leave-in conditioner, no shower needed. Haven’t you ever tried it?” She handed him the bottle and turned it so he could see the list of ingredients. “Any of those a problem?”

He frowned at the label as he read. “No . . .”

“Good.” She squeezed a healthy dollop into her palm and worked it into her hair. It didn’t entirely fix the limp texture, but at least now she smelled more like apple and honey than just walnuts. Hermione glanced up at her husband-

“You should use some potion too,” she found herself saying. “Sit.”

A tiny crease formed in the center of his forehead as he regarded her for a long moment, but then he looked away and lowered himself onto the footstool. He was much taller, so she didn’t have to lean over at all. Hermione uncorked the awareness potion and let a small amount pool in her palm.

“Will this give me hairy hands?” she asked, too late to un-pour the potion.

“Not if you wash them afterward,” he said, eyes fixed on the far wall.

“Good.”

And then she worked up the nerve to actually touch his hair. She expected it to be greasy, but instead-

“It’s so soft,” she whispered aloud in her surprise.

“Pardon?”

Hermione kicked herself for saying anything, but since she had . . . “It’s just . . . your hair feels nice. It’s softer than I expected.”

“Oh.” He shifted a bit on the footstool. “Thank you?”

Hermione kept her mouth shut as she worked another two palmfuls of potion into her husband’s hair. It felt awkward, to be touching him this intimately, but she felt a little stab of pleasure every time she felt him give a little sigh and relax a bit more. Slowly the lines of his shoulders became not quite so stiff, his posture not quite so rigid. It was odd to be having this effect on Professor Snape, of all people - but she found she rather liked it.

“I’m switching to a bit of the conditioner now,” she announced when she couldn’t justify any more of the potion.

“Fine,” he mumbled.

She kept going until she was certain every inch of his scalp was doused in the potion and every inch of his hair had been in contact with her conditioner. It already looked much healthier than usual, and she caught herself idly wondering whether he would like it.

“Okay, I’m done. I guess I’ll go wash my hands.”

He waited for her in the parlor, then went to wash his own hands and put the potion back wherever he normally kept such things. Hermione found a small mirror over the bureau in the bedroom and examined her reflection while she waited for him. Her hair looked slightly darker than normal, but no worse than when it was damp. And the frizz seemed to have settled down into a sleek wave she was sure she’d never be able to emulate again. It would do just fine.

“It will take some getting used to,” Professor Snape said from behind her. Hermione assumed he meant her hair - _does it really look that strange?_ \- but then he clarified. “The potion tingles a bit most of the time, so don’t be alarmed at that. Peeves makes my head ache on a regular basis. But if you feel a sudden stab of pain - try to get to me or one of the other professors, and let them know what’s going on. It could be nothing, but it could also be the higglewump. Better safe than sorry.”

“You’ll - you’ll let me know if you feel one?” she asked, hating the uncertainty in her voice.

“I promise I will,” he said.


	10. Chapter 10

By mid-afternoon, Hermione was starting to wonder how her husband survived teaching at Hogwarts at all. Her head ached abominably all through Muggle Studies and Arithmancy, despite Muggle Studies being one of her easier classes. Not stabbing pains like Professor Snape had said warned of danger, but a low-level thrum of angry noise which had her wishing she could crawl into bed for a long nap. The time between classes was much worse - she hadn’t had any classes with the Slytherins, thank goodness, but passing Draco and Goyle in the hallway had been torture.

“I hear you’ve found a way to ensure a good grade in potions, Granger!” Draco had announced in a loud voice just as they passed a group of second-years. “You planning to sleep your way through your N.E.W.T.s?” She had looked up, startled out of her private thoughts, and caught his gaze - and the fireworks exploded inside her head. She had needed to go hide in the bathroom for a few minutes to let the ache subside before she could continue to class.

Hermione knew she was being horribly rude, but she raced through her supper without more than a dozen words to Harry and Ron. She did notice their strategic maneuver - by skillfully switching seats with Ginny Weasley at the last possible moment, they ensured Hermione could sit at the very end of the Gryffindor table without having to speak to anyone else. Ron had the stricken, panicked look he often wore when they were facing imminent danger, but this time Hermione felt no need to explain. Whatever else might happen, the higglewumps were really Professor Snape’s problem. It wouldn’t be fair to him to drag Ron and Harry in on the search.

And part of her had to admit she was enjoying the chance to work on her own, for once. Not that she was _really_ facing higglewumps alone - that would have been terrifying - but this played to her strengths. Professor Snape seemed to accept that she was an intelligent young woman instead of thinking of her as a bossy know-it-all. The acknowledgement of her intellect as a strength instead of an annoyance was . . . very welcome.

The moment she was done eating, Hermione excused herself with an apologetic smile to Ron and Harry and practically ran for Professor Snape’s quarters. She had no trouble finding the corridor this time, and the door let her in just like it was supposed to. Her husband was still at supper, but that was fine - Hermione was only interested in hiding in bed and making the headache go away for a while. She peeled off her robe and slid under the covers in just her underdress. And she was even more tired than she thought, because she fell asleep in minutes.


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione was jolted awake by the hand roughly shaking her shoulder. Her eyelids flew open and she found herself looking into Professor Snape’s piercing gray eyes only inches away from her face.

“Hermione! Wake up!” He swore under his breath and shook her again.

“I’m up,” she mumbled.

“What in blazes did you think you were doing?”

She blinked at him. “Sleeping?”

He swore again. “Do you think this-” - he gestured around at the room - “-is all for show? What made you decide to run off by yourself when you _know_ there’s a higglewump after you?”

Hermione rolled over to her back and pushed herself up to sit leaning against the headboard. He did have a point, but . . .

“I’m sorry.” She tried to look contrite, but ruined it with a muffled yawn. “My head hurts so badly, and I couldn’t stand it one more minute, and I couldn’t face the other Gryffindors asking me what happened, and all I could think about all afternoon was taking a nap so this horrible ache would go away. How do you stand it?”

The anger in his eyes slowly receded, replaced by something softer. “No, I understand,” he said after a long moment. “I . . . used more awareness potion on you than I normally do. We can adjust the dose tomorrow - my head has been aching all day, too.”

“Then sit.” Hermione patted the empty space on the bed next to her. He gave her a long look, but finally walked around to the other side of the enormous four-poster and lowered himself onto the coverlet. With his angry scowl gone, he looked nearly as tired as she felt.

“I don’t know how you could stand to use that stuff every day,” she said. “Is it really necessary? I mean, I understand now, with the higglewumps, but . . . why would you do that to yourself?”

Professor Snape leaned his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes. “It’s not really a matter of choice, Hermione. You know about . . . the double life I’ve been living here.” He rubbed his thumb absently over his arm through his robe, where Hermione knew the dark mark was probably bothering him again. “It’s not smart to be unprepared when you’ve caught the notice of He Who Must Not Be Named.”

“Has he tried to kill you?” she asked.

“Not yet, at least not directly. But I prefer advance warning.” He turned his head, pinning her with a dark look. “He’d be particularly displeased if he knew what I was doing right now.”

She forced herself not to look away. “. . . Talking with a student in your bedroom?”

He snorted. “Discussing him with a mudblood. Whom I’ve married. Because of higglewumps I’ve never mentioned I theoretically control.” His gaze darted away again, staring up at the mirror over the bureau. “Sorry, I try not to use that word when I’m not with the Death-eaters. I apologize.”

“No, I’ve heard it enough from Draco already,” Hermione said. “I understand.”

They sat in parallel silence for several minutes, both looking at the wall ahead of them and thinking. Hermione was surprised to discover it wasn’t at all awkward - if someone had told her a week ago she’s be sitting in Professor Snape’s bed with him and not feeling terrified, she wouldn’t have believed them. But now . . .

“I’m surprised the higglewumps haven’t come up before,” she said without looking at him. “Surely He Who Must Not Be Named would have ideas on how they should be used?”

“Most likely,” he replied. “Which is part of why I’ve been content to leave them alone for the last several years. Hunting them down would have only called attention to them.”

“And then he’d want you to murder people.”

“Yes.” He drew in a long breath and muttered, “I’m so sick of living on the edge of this.”

A thought suddenly occurred to her. “If you use that awareness potion often . . . then Ron and Harry and I have been awful to you in class, haven’t we?”

He smiled sadly. “You’re not as subtle in your dislike as you think you are, no. Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley moreso than you, though.”

“For what it’s worth . . . I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I know Gryffindors have complained for years about always having potions class with the Slytherins, but that’s my secret reason why - I don’t think I could take that level of malice from Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws at the same time.”

 _Every day. Every. Blessed. Day._ Hermione thought back to all the times she and Ron and Harry had been mad at Professor Snape, all the times Ron and Harry were whispering furiously over their cauldrons about how much they wished him ill, and she felt sick to her stomach. He had never said a word, never given any sign he knew, but . . .

She couldn’t sit still any longer. “I know there’s nothing I can say to better apologize for what we’ve done,” she admitted, “but there is something I can do. Lie down.”

He looked at her quizzically.

“Here. On your stomach. I can’t make all those other headaches go away, but I can try to help with today’s.”

“I don’t know if that’s . . .”

She gave him her best no-nonsense look. “I may be your wife in name only and only for a little while, but let me do this.” She patted the coverlet between them, and after hesitating a long moment, he moved.

Hermione nudged him into position, lying on his stomach across the enormous bed, and knelt beside him. He jolted a bit when her palms met his shoulderblades, but then she started working the knots out in earnest and he slowly relaxed under her hands.

“You're so good at that . . .” he breathed, and Hermione fought to hide her grin.

“I’m told that’s what wives are for,” she said as she ran her thumbs down either side of his spine and felt some of the stiffness give way. “Soothing their husband’s aches at the end of a long day.”

“I suppose that’s one interpretation.” He moaned when she got to the small of his back and used more pressure. “I don’t . . . want things to be awkward once we get the higglewumps . . . mmmmph.”

“Apparently the other Gryffindors and I have been making things awkward for years,” she said quietly. And got another moan out of him when she went over the same tight spot again. “I don’t think we can go back to being strictly professor and pupil, not after this, but . . . well, I rather like this way better.”

He mumbled something into the coverlet which could have been agreement. Hermione allowed herself a few minutes to just enjoy the moment. Time enough later to worry about . . . everything else. She worked her way back up to his neck and shoulders, and immediately found that he wasn’t exaggerating - judging from how tight the muscles in his neck were, his headache had to be at least as bad as hers.

Hermione silently thanked Lavender and Parvati for their occasional late-night “de-stressing sessions” - the five sixth-year Gryffindor girls regularly spent an hour or so the night before exams started giving each other neck rubs, and Lavender and Parvati were both fantastic at it. The event had become somewhat of a tradition, and apparently Hermione had picked up a few things.

This was different, though. For one thing, her husband had a completely different shape to his back and shoulders. Hermione had never thought about him physically much at all, but she was surprised to feel real muscle under his robes. He would never be particularly brawny, she suspected, but he didn’t feel feminine either. What would he look like without . . . ?

She shied away from that thought even before it fully formed in her mind. Married or not, he was still more than twice her age, and she was still a student. Some aspects of their marriage-in-name-only would have to remain theoretical.

Hermione kept going until her fingers were tired. Her husband stayed preternaturally still until she was done, allowing her time to think and reflect while she worked. She suspected he was doing the same. When she finally sat back on her heels and arched her sore back, he rolled over and squeezed her hand in thanks. The look on his face said more than words ever could have.

“Would you like me to return the favor?” he asked quietly.

It sounded wonderful, but . . . “I wouldn’t turn it down, but I don’t expect you to. That was kind of by way of an apology.”

“I owe you an apology too,” he said, and nodded toward the coverlet. “I know you were only trying to help me yesterday, and I have been nothing but peevish about this whole affair. This is disrupting your life a lot more than it is mine - and the higglewumps were my problem to start with.”

His first touch on her shoulders was awkward, but as he kept going, Hermione felt herself relaxing. She guessed he didn’t have a whole lot of experience with this, but he was fairly accurately copying things she had done and the end result was perfectly adequate. More than once, his long fingers managed to find a particularly tight knot and she knew she was squirming, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Will you have time to devote to studying higglewumps this evening?” he asked as he kneaded her lower back.

“I have about an hour of arithmancy homework, but-” - she paused to draw in a shuddering deep breath as he hit a particularly sore spot - “-but other than that and looking over a paper I already finished for Muggle Studies, I’m free.”

“Good. I need to make a larger batch of awareness potion, anyway. Do you mind working in my office downstairs while I do that?”

Hermione closed her eyes and tried not to moan. “It’s fine.”


	12. Chapter 12

They went down the stairs together in companionable silence. Hermione was not entirely surprised to find that Professor Snape had his own hidden staircase from the teachers’ wing down to the dungeons outside his office - maybe not really _his_ staircase, necessarily, but it certainly wasn’t normally intended for students. It probably made midnight potion-brewing a lot easier, and it did allow the two of them to sneak downstairs without Hermione running into any classmates she’d have to explain her situation to.

He unlocked the door, gestured her in before him, and indicated toward an intimidating mahogany desk off to one side of the room.

“You can work there while I get the potion started. It will need to simmer for about an hour after I have everything in, so we can take a break and worry about the higglewumps then.”

Hermione felt terribly out of place as she seated herself behind the monstrous desk. Harry and Ron had told her about their experiences in Professor Snape’s office, of course, but this was her first time seeing it in person - and it was much more like what she had expected his parlor to be. The room was huge, cavernous really, with shelves and shelves of strange bottles and potion ingredients all around the walls and flickery lamps for light instead of the giant windows the above-ground rooms all had. She could imagine bats being quite happy to fly around just under the arched ceiling. The room didn’t actually smell like dank basement, but it certainly felt like it ought to. Why would he choose to surround himself with such a depressing atmosphere?

She stole a glance over at her husband, who was busily pulling down jars and setting them out on the scarred wooden workbench. He held his lantern up to the jars and vials where they sat on the shelves so he could see the labels, which made their shadows shift grotesquely every time he moved. This was how he worked - smoothly, methodically, but with a fierce focus on his task. And when that fierce focus turned to you . . . Hermione suppressed a shiver. _Is that good or bad?_ a voice inside her head asked - and she found she didn’t know the answer.

He set a jar down on the workbench and paused. “Is something wrong?”

Hermione jumped, guilt washing over her at being caught staring at him. Something she seemed to have been doing a lot lately. “No, sorry, just thinking,” she lied.

The next hour and a half went by more quickly than she expected. The arithmancy took most of her attention, and if her mind kept wandering to the dour man mixing a potion on the other side of the room . . . she forced herself to concentrate on the numbers once again. The Muggle Studies paper fared worse - Hermione knew she was lucky she had finished her paper early, because she was in no position to make substantial edits now. She read it over, not really seeing the words, and eventually pushed it aside with the hope it didn’t have anything too egregiously horrid in it.

She stood, stretched, and finally got up the courage to wander over to the workbench where her husband was stirring a walnut-scented potion.

“Finished?” he asked without looking up.

“All tapped out,” she admitted. “Probably not my best paper ever, but I’m taking Muggle Studies more out of curiosity than academic interest anyway.”

He muttered something and lowered the flames under the cauldron to a purple glow. “You have good timing - this will need to simmer for an hour before I add the last few ingredients.” He rested the tip of his wand on the workbench and looked at her for the first time in over an hour. “Are you ready?”

Hermione forced herself to nod. “What do you want me to do?”

“We’ll need some room.” Professor Snape led her to the large empty area in front of the desk, and lit several more wall sconces with a flick of his wand. The extra light changed the room from “ominous” to a mere “slightly dim.”

“Are we going to practice banishing them, or . . .”

“Protecting yourself, first and foremost.” He drew a circle on the ground with his wand, then a second circle next to it. “Higglewumps target their victim by tricking them into entering their spell ring. The best protection against a higglewump assassination is to watch your step.”

“A bit late for that,” Hermione said flatly.

“Yes, but it’s still important to recognize,” he replied. “This is the color you should look for - the powder around the edges is a mixture of ash, higglewump saliva, and - usually - some blood from their last victim. They can use other blood instead, if they have to, but the binding isn’t as strong. Shows up well against marble and light gravel, but less well in grass or against stone.”

“Do they have to get you in their circle to attack you?”

“The first time, yes. After that, they’ll still try, but it’s not strictly necessary. I think. I was hoping that might be in one of those books upstairs.”

“So what do I do if they catch me even if I’m not in a spell circle?”

He pointed his wand at her own. “ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

“ _Finite Incantatem!_ ” Hermione said reflexively, countering the spell before he could disarm her completely. Both spells shot off harmlessly toward the ceiling. Before he could react, she pointed back. “ _Locomotor wand!_ ”

She felt a small stab of satisfaction at seeing his face as his wand jerked upward several inches before he got control of it again. When he looked back at her, there was a new respect in his eyes. “Very well done, Hermione. Obviously you’re quick to react, which is the next best defense against dark creatures like higglewumps. If they disarm you, you’ll be stuck.”

 _Like you were._ Hermione caught the words before they could come out, but they had to have both been thinking about it. He inclined his head slightly, acknowledgement of the unspoken point.

“So I’m faced with a higglewump, I’ve avoided the circle, and I’ve avoided being disarmed. How do I kill it?”

“You stab it through the eye with a unicorn horn dipped in phoenix blood. Or you do some particularly tricky dark magic with the corpse of the higglewump’s first victim. I’ve found references to a third way, but I have yet to track down exactly what it entails.” He leveled a serious stare at her. “I meant what I said about higglewumps being gory creatures, Hermione.”

She swallowed hard. “I see that. How do I banish them, then?”

He flicked his wand and the circles on the ground vanished. “That’s significantly easier. As a member of my house, you have the power to give them commands - they can’t disobey a direct order. At least not immediately.”

“So you can’t say ‘leave me alone forever?’”

His lips twitched upwards into the ghost of a smile. “You certainly can - I did. It lasted for about ten years. Or possibly less - they likely lost interest in pursuing me when I became the only wizard left who could command them. But you’ve to get them to listen, first.”

“What was it you told them to do when - yesterday?”

His gaze slid away from her. “I told them to go do something anatomically impossible,” he finally admitted.

Hermione laughed out loud. “You told them to go fuck themselves?”

It was hard to tell in the dim light, but she was pretty sure he was blushing. “Something like that.”

“And they did?”

He turned redder. “It was a command from the head of their house.”

“Will you teach me how to say that in higglewumpish?”

“I will not.” He finally looked at her again. “I will, however, teach you how to make them listen to you, and how to tell them to go home.”

The rest of the hour was more strenuous than Hermione expected. Higglewumps apparently communicated through a complicated system of words, body language, and magic, which meant that they could happily ignore commands they didn’t simultaneously see, hear, and feel a spell for. Unfortunately, their language seemed to include a lot of words for “kill,” many of which seemed phonetically indistinguishable from other concepts like “sleep,” “leave,” and “stop.”

“Again.” Professor Snape circled around behind Hermione and aimed a spell at the back of her legs. “ _Petrificalus tot-_ ”

Hermione whirled before he could finish. “ _Finite incantatem! Audite sermenum! Grazziplik istvnar telvzprixek - uh, telvzprixkek-_ ”

“You’re closer. The second spell has to be non-verbal, though, so you can do it at the same time as the command, and you still forgot the shoulder motion.”

Hemione groaned. “Did I get the verbal part of the command right, at least?”

“Telvzprix **kek** , yes. Telvzprix **ek** is food.”

“So I told it to go eat something?”

“More or less.” He went to check on the cauldron. “This is just about ready for the rabbit’s milk - do you want to keep going, or have you had enough for now?”

Hermione stretched - the rapid-fire counterspelling and body language contortions had worn off all the good that back rub did earlier. “I’ve had enough,” she admitted, “but I’ll keep working on the non-verbal spell until you’re done.”

He nodded and began pulling down more potion ingredients.


	13. Chapter 13

Hermione kept thinking about higglewumps all the way back to her husband’s rooms. She would have been tired enough to fall asleep right there, except . . .

“Would it be okay if I take a shower before bed?” she asked. “I haven’t had one since yesterday morning, and I need to get this gunk out of my hair.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking about how to manage that - I’m not comfortable with you being in there alone that long, especially with the water running, but obviously we can’t just not bathe. Would it-” - his eyes softened - “-would it make you uncomfortable to have me sit in there too? I’ll stay near the door and face the other way, of course,” he quickly added. “But the shower is one place they really could harm you, if they managed to knock you down and get your face below the waterline . . .”

It didn’t bother her anywhere near as much as she would have thought it might. “Sure, I suppose.”

She retrieved her shower caddy while he brought in the footstool from the parlor - the only portable piece of furniture it seemed he owned. The lavatory was a good-sized bathroom connected from the bedroom, all done in tasteful beige marble and gold fixtures. Professor Snape set up the footstool just inside the door, near the counter and the double sink, and made a second trip to the parlor for the stack of books about higglewumps. He seated himself on the footstool, facing the door, and settled in to read with his back pointedly toward her.

Hermione undressed faster than she’d ever undressed in her life, and jumped to safety behind the smoked glass shower door. Then had to step back out again to grab her shower caddy.

“Talk or sing or something,” Professor Snape called over his shoulder. “So I know you’re okay.”

“I’m fine so far,” she said as she turned on the tap. “I’ll try to be fast.”

“Whatever you like.”

_Your husband stands naked on this spot every day._ The thought popped into her head, and then she just couldn’t get it out again. There in front of her was his soap, his shampoo . . . _probably smell like him_ . . . Hermione shampooed her hair hurriedly, then a second time because she could still feel the grease from the awareness potion clinging to her scalp.

“Still doing all right?” he called.

“Perfectly fine,” she said as she rinsed the second round of shampoo from her hair. And still felt the potion. “Does this awareness potion ever come out?”

“Eventually.”

Hermione briefly considered shaving her legs, too, but decided she’d rather just be done. She raced through the rest of her shower and turned off the water. “I’m coming out now - this towel is for me?”

He made an agreeable noise, so she dried her hair hurriedly and wrapped the burgundy towel around herself. And realized she forgot to bring in a change of undergarments and her nightdress.

_Well I’m not pushing past him like this!_ She picked up her crumpled robe - but it was sweaty from her higglewump-banishing practice, and dusty to boot. _Darn it._ There was only one thing to do -

“Close your eyes, please?”

He almost turned around to ask for clarification, but caught himself in time. “If you say so.” He put down his book and bowed his head.

Hermione clutched the towel around herself and squeezed past him out the doorway. He started when her hip brushed past his, but kept his head down and his eyes closed. “Just for a minute,” she explained. Luckily there was a clean nightdress and underthings near the top of her bag, and Hermione was able to quickly duck out of her husband’s line of sight through the parlor door to change. “Okay, done. I’m decent now.”

“Safe to open my eyes?”

“It’s safe.” Hermione rummaged through her bag again and came up with her comb. “Your turn, if you want one.”

“Oh, I don’t think you need to -”

“Not true,” she interrupted. “If I’m in danger alone, you are too - if not more so. You shouldn’t be opening yourself up to higglewumps any more than I should.” She shooed him further into the bathroom. “It will take me a while to get through all this hair anyway.”

He looked like he was going to argue, but then he nodded once and pulled out a fresh towel. “Thank you.” Unlike her, he planned ahead and retrieved some nightclothes from his bureau before turning on the water.

Hermione tried to concentrate on getting her comb through her tangled hair, but it was hard with the sounds of her husband undressing behind her. She had a horrible urge to peek, and she didn’t even know why. _It’s not like I_ want _to know what he looks like naked_ , she told herself. But it wasn’t idle curiosity either. She worked her way through a particularly heavy knot. She hated how her hair snarled immediately, all the time, no matter what she put in it, no matter what she did to it . . . _maybe I should just cut it all off? . . ._

He made a noise as he stepped under the spray - Hermione could hear the sound of the water changing, but his barely-audible moan of pleasure shot through her in ways she couldn’t name. Hermione abandoned the knot and just let herself focus on listening. The wet slap of water as he ran his hands through his hair, the change in pitch as the water went from hitting the shower wall to hitting his body -

_This shouldn’t be having the effect on me that it is._ “Doing okay in there?” she forced herself to ask.

In answer, he started singing. His voice was higher than she expected, a clear tenor. The song was a hauntingly sweet Irish ballad, one Hermione vaguely recognized . . . a shiver ran through her. It may have been a simple song in the shower, but he sang it beautifully. She realized she had never really heard him sing before, and vaguely wondered why that was.

She didn’t remember the comb in her hand until the song was finished. Hermione attacked her hair with quick jerks, eventually taming it into a smooth wet mass and then pulling it back into a heavy braid at the back of her neck. The shower turned off, then there was the sound of the shower door opening and her husband stepping out. Hermione closed her eyes. The towel whispered against the towel bar as he pulled it out. A rustling as he dried himself off. A loud thump-

Hermione whirled around, her heart in her mouth. He was leaning back at an awkward angle, one hand on the towel bar and one on the lip of the tub.

“I’m okay - just slipped,” he said as he pulled himself back to standing. The towel stayed wrapped tightly around his hips-

Hermione swallowed hard and turned back to cover her face with her hands. _I wasn’t looking, I wasn’t looking . . ._

But of course she had still seen, and the view was seared into her mind. The angry scar that bisected his front, running from just under his heart to his opposite hip. The symmetrical bruises on both sides of his ribs. The angle of his waist, his hips, his chest . . . she swallowed again. _Wasn’t looking . . ._

She gave up trying to fool herself. She _had_ been looking, despite her best efforts, and his body was fascinating. Those bruises had to be recent, but there was no telling about that scar. And there was no un-learning the way seeing his naked chest made her mouth go dry.

“Hermione?”

She jumped at the feel of his hand on her shoulder. She snuck a peek - he was dressed, a different plaid on the pajama pants this time. Seeing him in normal clothes didn’t seem so uncomfortable anymore.

“I’m going to read some more before turning in for the night,” he said. “I’ll be in the parlor - keep the door open.”


	14. Chapter 14

Hermione had a difficult time sleeping that night. She kept waking up from disturbing dreams - some with invisible higglewumps lurking just outside her field of vision, others with her husband holding her tightly and running his hands over her in ways she didn’t fully understand but somehow knew she wanted. Somehow the latter dreams were more troubling. By morning, Hermione was feeling peevish and hot and not at all inclined to pay attention in her classes.

She and Professor Snape managed their morning routines without saying more than a few words. She threw on her day robes while he was in the lavatory, then while she was brushing her teeth he did the same. When she finished brushing her hair, he tilted the bottle of awareness potion at her in silent offering. He used a much smaller amount on her this time than he had done before, although she noticed it was still quite a bit more than the small pool he poured into her palm when she was returning the favor for him. He didn’t even comment when she followed it up with her conditioner. They both started their day smelling like walnut, apple, and honey.

Her Muggle Studies class went about as poorly as she expected. Her head didn’t ache as much, which was nice, but Hermione knew she was in no state to actually take in the lecture. She took notes mechanically and vowed to sort them out later.

Potions was next - which was a problem because she had studiously been avoiding Ron and Harry for almost two days. And now she was married to the professor.

Ron and Harry caught up to her just outside the door to the classroom. “Haven’t seen you in ages, Hermione,” Ron called out as he fell into step beside her. He lowered his voice. “Are you - doing okay?”

She forced a smile. “It’s a bit odd, of course, but yes - I’m fine. Hopefully this won’t go on too much longer.”

Harry took the seat on her other side. “I still don’t understand why you can’t just stay in the Gryffindor tower,” he whispered. “Hogwarts is secure, isn’t it?”

“Don’t know.” She started setting up her cauldron, trying not to look at her husband. “He’s just trying to keep me safe. And he’s been kind so far.”

Ron and Harry both grumbled something inaudible and probably uncharitable. Hermione suddenly felt very aware that Professor Snape would _know_ what they were thinking, would feel it prickling on his scalp . . . she snuck a sideways glance at him while she set out her potions book. And caught his gray eyes resting on her, a tiny smile twisting his lips. _He feels it._

“Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, for not being ready,” he announced.

Ron’s mouth dropped open. Harry glared at the other side of the room, where a handful of Slytherins were obviously not fully set up either, but neither of them argued. Hermione clamped her jaw shut until her teeth ached.

Draco elbowed the Slytherin girl next to him and grinned. “Guess Gryffindors don’t have an ‘in’ with the professor as much as they thought,” he whispered loudly enough to be heard by the entire room.

“And ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy, for delaying us further,” Professor Snape said. The entire Slytherin side of the room froze, shocked, while the Gryffindor side vibrated with silent satisfaction. Hermione felt a sharp stab of pain from the awareness potion - and yes, there was Draco, glaring at her.

Professor Snape waved his wand toward the table at the front of the room and magically whisked away the black cloth covering the pile of ingredients. “Turn to page seventy-six, please, and pay particular attention to the monkshood - get it on your skin and you will be itching for days. You have an hour and twenty minutes to finish your gravity potions. Refer to the vial on my desk for the color of a correctly-distilled sample.”

Hermione could sense both Ron and Harry were dying to ask her more questions, but Professor Snape seemed no more likely to tolerate chatter in his class than normal. She tried to focus on her potion - the timing had to to be exact -

“So what’s it like?” Ron whispered, under the guise of borrowing her scale. “Do you have to - you know?”

Hermione tried her best quelling look. “I’m working,” she murmured.

“Problems, you two?” asked Professor Snape. Somehow he had worked his way from the Slytherin tables to right behind Ron when she wasn’t paying attention.

“No sir,” Ron said. Hermione busied herself with chopping the willow bark into precise strips.

“I would disagree,” he sniffed, looking down his nose at Ron’s cauldron. “You added the powdered lead too early - your potion is already burning.”

He was right - Ron’s potion had a distinct char smell coming from it. Although that may have been his cauldron, which was clearly straining under the increasing weight of the gravity potion as it simmered. Hermione recalled herself to her own potion just in time to add the willow bark at the right moment.

A thud came from somewhere on the other side of the room - someone’s cauldron stand had collapsed, spilling gravity potion over two students’ shoes. The one whose cauldron had tipped then fell trying to move her feet, getting the potion all over one arm, which was now too heavy to lift off the ground. Professor Snape muttered something and moved away to deal with the problem.

“You know we’re just worried for you,” Harry whispered from her other side.

“We want to help,” said Ron.

“Hush, both of you!” she hissed. “We’ll talk at lunch - now is not the time!” _I’m_ not _talking about this here . . . or maybe at all . . ._

Ron gave her a look, but they both relented. Hermione’s potion came out as well as she could have hoped - only a hair darker than the sample, but better than anyone else’s. Draco’s was the next closest. Ron’s smoked abominably, and when he went to transfer it to a bottle so he could bring it to Professor Snape’s desk, his cauldron finally gave up and shattered. Ron jumped back in time to avoid most of the splatter, but his books were thoroughly speckled.

“At least we know the gravity potion works,” he said darkly as he heaved each book out of the way. “I’ll never get these all back up the stairs now.”

“Mr. Weasley, please stay and clean up your mess. The rest of you, potions on my desk, please, and you may go to lunch.” There was a general flurry of movement as the rest of the class hurried to put away their materials and turn in their potions. Hermione started to help Ron clean, but Professor Snape stopped her.

“Up to lunch, now - Mr. Weasley made the potion himself so he can clean it himself just as well. Perhaps next time he will be more careful in timing his ingredients.” Hermione felt her husband’s hand on her back, hidden between their bodies and their flowing robes, nudging her toward the door. “I’m coming up as well, so Mr. Weasley, please close the door when you’re done.”

Hermione and Harry exchanged looks, but there was nothing to do but to go up to lunch and leave Ron behind. Professor Snape ushered the group of students up the staircase and back toward the great hall, staying a few paces back from Hermione but close enough he would have been able to overhear if she and Harry had tried to talk. He didn’t usually chaperone students - especially sixth-years - so it had to be out of fear for her safety. Which made her feel . . . something complicated.

Luckily, the great hall was reasonably empty during lunchtime, as students had different class schedules and ate at staggered times. Professor Snape retreated to the raised instructors’ table, leaving Harry and Hermione a chance to sit a little away from the rest of the Gryffindors and talk.

“Be honest with me, Hermione,” Harry said. “I know Ron said these higglewumps are dangerous - but is it worth staying with _Snape?_ ”

“He’s not really as bad as you and Ron make him out to be,” she said. “I mean, yes, he’s deathly serious all the time, but he’s also _really good_. If the higglewumps are coming back, I’ve got a much better chance standing next to him than I do trying to fend them off myself.” She stuck a bite of sandwich in her mouth, trying to decide how much else to share. On the one hand, Harry and Ron were her best friends - but on the other, they antagonized Professor Snape on a regular basis. And right now . . . she decided it was best to err on the side of silence, at least for the moment. “We’re not - sharing a bed or anything. And he is teaching me how to banish them, for if they do find me.”

“Why does he even have pet higglewumps, anyway?”

“They’re not pets,” she shot back. “They’re a real problem - if He Who Must Not Be Named knew they were bound to obey him, it would be _bad_. So Professor Snape has tried to keep them out of sight for years.”

Harry reached over the table and gave her hand a squeeze. “I know you, Hermione, so I know you’re going to beat these things. But I hope you won’t be mad at me and Ron for praying you’ll get this marriage thing over with soon.”


	15. Chapter 15

Ron caught up with them on the way to their Care of Magical Creatures class. Hermione and Harry had each stuck a sandwich in their pockets for him, which Ron inhaled gladly.

“Thought I’d never get that mess cleaned up,” he said through a mouthful of peanut butter. “The mop weighed more than I did by the time I was done. Potion wiped right off the books, though.” He licked a glob of jam off his thumbnail. “So I missed all the details. What’s going on, Hermione?”

“Same thing that was going on yesterday,” she snapped. And then immediately felt awful for it. “Sorry, Ron. But as much as I appreciate your concern, and I know you hate Professor Snape, he’s doing a good thing for me right now and I’m really not in a mood to complain about it.”

“Nor should you,” came a voice from behind them. Hermione and Ron both jumped guiltily as Professor McGonagall caught up to them. “He doesn’t have to do this, you know,” she said.

Harry frowned at her, his lightning-shaped scar puckering. “But I thought he had to . . .”

Professor McGonagall motioned for them to continue walking, then fell into step beside their group. “He could have refused to go through with the ceremony to finalize the marriage with Miss Granger, and turned her over to Headmaster Dumbledore’s safekeeping instead. She would probably had to have been locked in magical stasis in the dungeons for several weeks, in that case. For her own safety. Or he could have refused to take the vows at all. He very likely could have banished the higglewumps on his own - but that would have left Miss Granger under a death sentence whenever the higglewumps came back, a day or a month or a decade later.” She flashed a small smile at Hermione. “Instead, he chose to do what he could to ensure her safety without restricting her freedom more than necessary. The best path, in my opinion. So yes, you are right to not complain - from your point of view, his other options would have all been much worse.”

Ron was blushing, Hermione could tell. Harry was uncharacteristically silent, too. Hermione just mulled the thought over as Professor McGonagall accompanied them all the way across the lawns toward Hagrid’s hut.

“Are you here to keep an eye on me?” she finally asked.

Professor McGonagall inclined her head. “Your husband was worried for your safety here on the grounds, especially so near where the first attack occurred. And although Hagrid knows a good deal about magical creatures, including higglewumps, he lacks the . . . magical ability to deal with them. So Severus asked me to accompany you until his third-years finish class and he can come out himself.”

 _That was thoughtful of him._ Hermione hoped he was faring as well in his own class - third-years could hardly be expected to help him if he got trapped -

“Blast it, I’m sorry, Hermione, but do you really refer to him your _husband?_ ” Ron said. “I can’t - I just can’t wrap my head around -”

“I’m only starting to,” Hermione admitted. “I still call him ‘Professor Snape’ to his face.”

Hagrid was standing next to a large crate near the fence outside his hut when they arrived - they were the last in the class to get there. Several students’ eyes kept flickering back to Professor McGonagall when she wasn’t looking, but she didn’t offer an explanation for her presence and nobody was quite brave enough to ask.

“New creature today,” Hagrid announced proudly. “I think you’ll enjoy this one - just got a whole litter in. Can anyone tell me what newborn sylvili eat?”

Hermione was the only one who knew. “Grass, I believe?”

Hagrid nodded. “I’ll give each of you your own sylvila, which you’ll be raising over the next few weeks. Don’t worry about training it much today - just make sure it gets a good lunch. They’re incredibly docile as long as they’re being petted, but they run like the devil if they get scared, so be prepared to head them off if they get loose.” He opened the crate and pulled out-

“Bunnies?” a Hufflepuff girl asked incredulously.

“They’re related,” Hagrid admitted. “Here, you can take this one. Put it down on the ground and let it eat, but whatever you do, don’t stop petting!”

It wasn’t hard. The sylvili were incredibly soft, tiny bundles of fur, with voracious appetites. Hermione looked around while stroking hers with the back of her hand. By halfway through the class, Hagrid’s front lawn had noticeably thinned. If he expected the class to all raise their sylvili to adulthood . . .

She saw Harry’s sylvila make a break for it, and quickly scooped hers up so she could help him catch it before it could get somewhere difficult to retrieve. He dashed along one side of the fence as it darted under, so she started along the other side. Harry was on the verge of jumping over the fence to come catch it when the headache speared through her.

_“STOP!”_

Hermione’s cry brought Professor McGonagall running, along with several other students. Hermione waved Harry back up onto the fence, before his foot could touch the ground inside the barely-noticeable higglewump ring the sylvila was currently sitting in. It looked like it was trying to keep running, but its body was pressed flat to the ground, its back legs scrabbling against grass. Like something was sitting on it -

Professor McGonagall pointed her wand at the air just above the sylvila and started casting. “ _Finite Incantatem! Petrificus Totalis!_ ” She sealed the circle at a dead run. “ _Cave Inimicum!_ Ron, Harry, GO GET SEVERUS. Now! Hermione, all I can do is stun them for a few moments - I hope he’s taught you something -”

Hermione felt a moment of panic while Professor McGonagall cast more spells, but swallowed the reaction and tried to focus. The higglewump was fading in and out of view now, sitting on the tiny sylvila. Hermione drew her spine up straight and tried desperately to remember the correct body language. When the higglewump next became visible and looked toward her, she cast the spell. “ _Audite sermenum! Grazziplik istvnar telvzprixek!_ ”

The higglewump leered at her. It bounced a few times, then reached down for the limp sylvila -

“Vistkex, Hermione! Say vistkex!” Hagrid bellowed.

“ _Vistkex!_ ”

With a pop, the higglewump disappeared. Hermione felt a wave of fatigue wash over her, and the next thing she knew, Hagrid was lowering her to the ground. For the second time in three days.

“What’s vistkex?” she asked, trying to focus on Hagrid’s face instead of the vicious buzzing in her ears.

He sat on the grass next to her, ready to catch her if she tipped over. Which she realized she still might. “It means bacon.”

She blinked at him.

“You told it to go eat. It was going to eat the sylvila. So then you told it to go eat bacon, and it can’t come back here until it does.”

His face was going all fuzzy, and Hermione realized she was leaning more heavily on Hagrid than she thought she was. “Why . . . why would I want it to eat bacon?”

“So it wouldn’t eat the sylvili. Or Harry. Or you. It was just the first thing that came to mind - I don’t speak that much higglewumpish.” He frowned. “Hermione, you’re positively green . . .”

There was more motion around her, and then a voice she welcomed even through her exhausted haze, calling her name. And then her husband was there, breathing heavily like he had just run all the way from the castle.

“Hermione - look at me. Focus. Did anyone go in the circle?”

She lifted her head, with some effort, and tried to get his two faces to merge back into one. “Just the . . . the rabbit. I told the higglewump to eat bacon.”

“Good girl.” He said something to Hagrid, there was some exchange of words with Professor McGonagall, and then Hermione felt herself being lifted gently off the ground. She was vaguely aware of the other students staring, but she was too exhausted to care. She let her head loll on her husband’s shoulder as he carried her with swift strides back toward the castle.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who prefer a "T" rating might want to skip this chapter - it's the good one :-) I'm changing the overall story rating to "M" at this point.

He was impressively strong for someone who looked so thin and bony. Hermione only half-noticed the corridors flash past as Professor Snape carried her back to his quarters - all she wanted now was to sleep . . .

“Stay with me, Hermione!” he ordered.

She opened her eyes and realized she was nuzzling her forehead into the side of his neck. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Don’t be sorry, just don’t sleep yet. Not until I get you into bed.”

“But I want to sleep . . . I’m so tired . . .”

“Hold on!” he barked. The sound shook Hermione awake enough to notice how they were paused at his door, just for a moment. Then he shifted her weight, palmed the magic lock, and the door swung open. He stopped only long enough to kick the door closed behind him before carrying her through the parlor to the bedroom and tossing her onto the bed.

Hermione hugged the pillow, curling into it, eyes heavy. Peripherally she registered her husband kicking off his shoes and crawling into bed next to her -

“Please, Hermione, not yet,” he pleaded. Hermione was pretty sure she had never heard that plaintive tone in his voice before. She slitted her eyelids open to look up at him -

“I’m sorry.” He leaned down to kiss her on the temple. And then tugged her robe off over her head.

That seemed odd. “What-”

But he was pulling his own off as well. And then his undergown, so that great slashing scar was visible on his bare chest. He grabbed the hem of her own underdress and pulled it up to the back of her neck, so there was cool air against her bare back, but then the coolness was replaced by warmth as he spooned up against her.

Hermione gradually regained her thought process as she came awake. She hadn’t actually been asleep, at least she thought she hadn’t, but why else would she have dreamed that he - 

But no, she could feel his breath against the hairs on the back of her neck, feel his chest go in and out against her back, feel his arm wrapped around her waist.

“Prof - Severus?”

He sighed and nuzzled a kiss just behind her ear. “It’s okay. Take a few more minutes to recharge.”

“What - why -”

“The higglewump nearly drained your magic, that’s why,” he said quietly into her ear. “It was trying to make it as hard as possible for you to command it, but you managed anyway. Any more strenuous of a command and you may not have made it back here.” His arm tightened around her waist in a possessive reflex. “This is one of the most time-honored ways for married witches and wizards to help each other recharge - skin-to-skin contact. Just give it a minute. You’ll start feeling yourself again . . .”

A thought fought its way through the remaining fog. “Won’t that drain you, though?”

She felt his chuckle vibrating against her back. “Don’t worry about me, sweet. Just relax.”

“Can I sleep now?”

“If you like.”

But the longer she lay still with her husband’s body curled around hers, the less she felt like sleeping. She snuggled backward against him. The weight of his arm across her stomach felt heavenly, comfortably protective. She squirmed backward again, snuggling against his chest, and felt something -

“Just lie still,” he commanded.

But she didn’t want to lie still. Scenes from her dreams the previous night floated through her head. Here he was, holding her, but she still wanted . . .

He let out a huff of dry laughter as she ground back against him, not really sure what she was looking for, but certain they needed to be doing more _moving_. Something to feel more of him against her.

“Hermione, I don’t - I can’t -”

“Stop saying no,” she breathed. “I want to feel you - I don’t know, I want -” She clumsily tugged the rest of her underdress up, out from under the arm snuggled around her waist, and took a deep breath at the feel of his hand against the bare skin of her stomach. She covered his hand with hers and guided it up, leaving a trail of sensation as his fingers traced over her ribs and settled over the thin fabric of her bra.

He groaned. “We shouldn’t - I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to-”

“I want this, Severus,” she whispered, finally using his name for the first time ever, even to herself.

His wordless reply was muffled by her hair, but she thought it was probably a curse. “I know,” he said. “You have loud dreams.”

Hermione turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Did I wake you?”

He said nothing, just fixed her with those dark eyes - and then images assaulted her. Of herself, muttering and twisting under the sheets, breathing hard. She saw the scene from his eyes as he stood in the doorway, watching her in the moonlight, feeling the tightening in his own body as she moaned - and then she was inside her own dreams once again, panting as they ran their hands over each other in a frantic race for some goal, some elusive target . . .

“One of the complications of being a legilimens,” he murmured. “Sometimes I catch things without meaning to. And last night I caught quite a bit while we were both asleep - you were practically radiating.” Apology clouded his eyes. “Are you mad at me for eavesdropping?”

Hermione rolled over, reveling in the slide of her skin against his. “Eavesdrop this,” she dared him. And pressed her mouth to his.

She felt him stiffen momentarily, then relax as he countered her kiss with one of his own. And when she felt the hesitant touch at the edges of her mind which told her he was listening, she let loose the tumble of images and emotions she had been holding at bay the last few days. The fear she felt when she first saw him in the higglewumps’ circle. The hurt at his casual twine “marriage bracelet.” The whirlwind of sensation at his kiss, and her embarrassment afterward. Her unsettling fascination with seeing him in his muggle pajamas. The way seeing his long, thin fingers and imagining them on her skin made her insides tie up in knots. The feel of those fingers in her hair as he massaged awareness potion into her scalp, and her fight not to let herself show her reaction. The feel of his body under her own hands as she ran them over his back and her satisfaction at how she affected him. Her pride at winning his praise while practicing disarming spells. Seeing him in just a towel, scar visible, in front of the shower, her skin still prickling from the haunting melody he had been singing moments earlier . . .

He moaned aloud into her kiss, and suddenly the whole tenor of their situation changed. Hermione found herself being pressed into the mattress by the weight of her husband’s enthusiasm as he worked magic against her mouth with his tongue, his lips, his teeth. He broke the kiss only long enough to finish pulling her underdress off over her head, then his hands were on her body and Hermione couldn’t think for the sensations sweeping over her. His fingers found their way to her breast, tracing her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra, and it was her turn to moan. He broke the kiss, muttered a spell, and the bra disappeared, leaving his palm against her bare skin.

Hermione arched into him and squirmed, instinctively nudging her hips forward into his. And was rewarded by a shudder which ran through his entire body. He ducked his head, trailing tiny nips and kisses down the side of her neck and along her collarbone and down -

It was her turn to shudder when his lips closed over her nipple. He drank in the sound. “Tell me what you like, Hermione,” he whispered against her skin.

“I don’t know,” she gasped. “Everything. All of it. Just . . . more . . .”

She felt the vibrations of his silent laughter. And a new image appeared in her mind, crystal-clear - a tableau of the two of them, intertwined, gasping in pleasure -

“Oh God, _yes,_ ” she breathed. She slid her hand down between the two of them, over his scarred stomach, reaching for the part she could feel straining against his drawers . . . her fingers found it through the fabric, traced the length, and he threw his head back in a shuddering pant. His eyes drifted closed as she fondled, played, tightened her hand around him and ran it up and down, getting to know the shape of him . . .

“I want to be inside you so much right now,” he groaned. “Hermione, may I . . .”

She reached down with her free hand and tugged her panties down to her knees, then kicked them off with her feet. She brought both hands up to his hips, then slid them down his sides, dragging his drawers with them -

He muttered something and his drawers disappeared just as her bra had. And then they were skin to skin. Hermione hitched against him, the pressure hitting just the right place . . . he moaned something gutteral, deep in his throat, and nudged back. She would have sworn she saw stars. And when he finally positioned himself, finally slid degree by degree into her, all she could do was cling to him and _feel._

Feel the rising heat between them, slowly at first but accelerating until she was panting just as hard as he was. He set a rhythm with his hips, one she was helpless to deny - each connection only ratcheted the heat up higher . . .

And then she couldn’t take anymore and she shattered, spiralling down through waves of pleasure. He dipped his head and accepted the cry from her lips, kissing her with all the considerable skill he possessed, and then he was shivering too and collapsing to lie heavy across her chest. Hermione hugged him tight, welcoming the weight, struggling to adjust to her world as a newly-minted woman of experience.


	17. Chapter 17

After a long minute he rolled off her and settled alongside, one hand still draped over her chest and playing lazily with her breast. Hermione felt like she had just run for miles, but yet at the same time she was bursting with energy -

“You feel it too,” he said quietly. “That charge of magical energy.”

“Is that what it is?” she asked, turning to smile at him. “I feel . . . glorious. Is that what’s supposed to happen?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “This was a first for me too. But it’s obviously an effective cure for magical fatigue.”

Hermione propped herself up on one elbow and searched his face. He was smiling - not the half-smirk he used in class on occasion, or the sarcastic twist to his mouth when he was about to deliver some particularly caustic comment, but an actual smile. It was a nice change.

His comment took another minute to sink in. “Your first . . . ever?” Suddenly she realized how incredulous she sounded. “Not that I’m complaining or anything, I just assumed . . . you’re a really good kisser,” she finished lamely.

He laughed. “That part, I’ve done before.”

“But not the rest of it?”

“No.” His gaze grew distant. “During my seventh year, we had a guest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for a week or so. She was a veela - Professor Beauvisage. It was . . . enlightening, to say the least. I think the idea was to teach us how to resist a veela’s magic, but every single male student failed the test - to be alone in a room with her and not to try to kiss her. I was the only one who managed to leave under my own power.”

“After a kiss?”

His eyes sparkled. “Oh yes.”

Hermione couldn’t help grinning back at him. “You’re not ashamed of that at all, are you?”

“Well she _did_ give me extra credit for technique . . . but no, that’s the one test I don’t mind having failed.” He brought his hand up to cup the line of her jaw. “I’m glad my studying hasn’t been wasted.”

He dipped his head again, sprinkling kisses over her cheek, her jaw, the corner of her mouth, her temple. Hermione marveled at the change in him - gone was the dour, sardonic professor, and in his place was this playful man with magic in his fingertips and heaven in his kiss. And she realized that for the first time since being attacked by the higglewump, she was happy too.

Eventually they settled back into the bed together, comfortably naked, bodies touching from shoulder to hip. Hermione was almost afraid to say anything, for fear something would snap and they’d go back to like they were before, but . . .

“It’s probably getting close to suppertime,” he said before she could.

 _Yes, that._ “I don’t want to go.” She rolled onto her side and turned her forehead into his shoulder. “I’m afraid once we leave this bed, things will go back to the awkwardness we had before - and I really like it here. In bed. With you.”

She felt his smile, and his hand came up to tangle lazily in her hair. “Much as I’d like to keep you here to myself for the rest of the afternoon and evening, I think we both know that can’t happen.”

“But I want it to.” Hermione couldn’t quite keep the pout out of her voice. She ran her hand over his chest, delving lazily through the dusting of dark hair there, and found herself absently tracing the line of the scar down across his stomach.

“You were wondering about my scar.”

She forced her hand to stop tracing it. “I never said-”

“Not just now - when you saw me slip after getting out of the shower. You showed me in your mind a minute ago.” His free hand came up to his stomach and settled over the scar tissue.

Hermione didn’t see any sense in denying it. “What happened?”

“It was supposed to be a reminder. Turned out to be a damn good one.” He exhaled bitterly. “He Who Must Not Be Named knew right from the start that I was a half-blood, of course, but he more or less forced the other Death Eaters to look past that on my behalf. But then I displeased him.”

A lump rose in her throat at the resentment in his voice. “How?” she asked.

“Some of the other Death Eaters were muggle-baiting, purely for sport. They had a shopkeeper and her young daughter trapped in the apartment above their shop, doing . . . things to them. I was there but not particularly participating, so I was the first one to notice the second little girl hiding in a coat closet.” He swallowed hard and absentmindedly rubbed his hand over his scar. “I made her fall asleep right there in the closet so she wouldn’t give herself away, and I put a muffliato spell on the room so the other Death Eaters wouldn’t notice her. And they didn’t.”

“But He Who Must Not Be Named found out anyway?”

“I . . . wasn’t as good at occlumency then as I am now. He found the memory of her in my mind and he was . . .” He closed his eyes. “He said if I was going to have torn loyalties, he wanted to choose which half of me he got. And after he gave me this cut, he told all the Death Eaters that we should all remember we’re useless if we’re not whole. Wholly committed to fighting for him.” He turned and pinned her with those dark eyes. “You know how that turned out for him, of course, when he killed the Potters. But now . . .” He disentangled his fingers from her hair and gently traced the line of her jaw.

“Now you’re married to a mudblood?”

He dipped his chin slightly in accord. “Things would not go well for either of us if people believed we weren’t both thoroughly horrified by our situation.”

“And there are students here who wouldn’t hesitate to tell their Death Eater parents the news, if they knew,” Hermione concluded.

“Just so.”

Her heart ached for him. “So what do we do now?”

He brushed a chaste kiss against her lips, then sat up and magicked their clothes into an untidy pile on the bed between them. “We go down to supper, and we do our best to ignore each other.”

“Will we have to go back to . . .”

Something passed over his face, erasing the glow in his eyes. A moment later he was the sardonic professor, sneering down his nose at her. “We have no reason to pretend emotions we don’t feel, wife. This is only for the higglewumps’ sake; no more.”

A shiver chased down Hermione’s back, and it had nothing to do with her lack of clothes. His face held not a trace of affection, no tenderness or warmth for her at all. Hermione hugged her robes to her chest and tried to hold back the prickle of tears.

And then his expression lightened, just a shade, but enough she could see the truth in his eyes. He hated this as much as she did. It was enough to get her to start mechanically dressing herself and patting her hair into place.

“Just promise me one thing,” she said. He raised an eyebrow. “Promise me - promise you’ll tell me if that blank sneer is ever more than just a mask.”

And in response, he kissed her. “I promise.”


	18. Chapter 18

There was no avoiding the Gryffindors’ questions at supper this time. Hermione found herself seated toward the middle of the table, the center of attention. Seems _everyone_ had heard about the higglewump attack that afternoon - and how her husband had sprinted out of his potions class at a dead run, come to her rescue, and physically carried her off afterward. Stories about the higglewump had already grown - it was _three_ higglewumps, a fourth-year was breathlessly telling her friends as Hermione approached the table, and Professor McGonagall had singlehandedly beaten them back into a corner before they all jumped onto Hermione at once and Professor Snape had to blast them all with unforgivable curses to make them retreat.

“You might leave the tales to someone who was actually there,” Ron said acerbically to the fourth-year.

Hermione took the only remaining seat without saying anything.

“Glad you’re looking better,” Harry commented brightly. “Bet you can’t wait to beat them for good, right?”

“We miss you,” said Ron.

Ginny elbowed her brother. “What he means is he hates actually doing his homework by himself.”

Hermione forced a small smile. “It will do you good, Ron, to not have me looking after you for once. And I don’t know how long this . . . arrangement . . . will last, but I am proud of banishing that thing on my first try. I was certain I’d forget the words.”

Her acknowledgement of the higglewump seemed to open the floodgates - Gryffindors of all ages eavesdropped blatantly as the ones lucky enough to be sitting near her at the table asked questions.

“Did you really have to marry _Snape?_ ”

“Are higglewumps really that dangerous?”

“How do you kill them, Hermione?”

She glanced up at the head table, where her husband sat between Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. He looked as dour as ever, frowning at something Dumbledore was saying and gesturing sarcastically with one pale hand. She wondered what it was Dumbledore was telling him that made him so animated in his sarcasm.

Ron and Harry fielded as many of the questions as they could, leaving Hermione to mumble out monosyllabic answers only when absolutely necessary. The meal drew to a close with excruciating slowness, but the plates did finally disappear from the tables and students began to head back to their house commons rooms.

Professor McGonagall approached the Gryffindor table before Hermione, Ron, and Harry could get up. She made eye contact with each one of them in turn. “I need you three to come with me. When you are done - no rush.”

Hermione stole another glance at her husband - who was not paying a bit of attention to the student tables - and mentally steeled herself for a long evening. She, Harry, and Ron dutifully made their way to the head table once most of the students had left. “Professor?”

Professor McGonagall ushered them out of the great hall and up the two flights of stairs to her transfiguration classroom. The door safely locked behind them, she retreated to sit on her desk in a casual way she’d never do in class and cleared her throat.

“It is the considered opinion of Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor Snape, and myself that your friends be told the truth behind your . . . situation. Hermione, is that okay with you?”

_How much truth, exactly?_ Hermione wasn’t sure she was ready to admit the truth about her day so far, even to herself . . . she prayed the heat she felt in her cheeks wasn’t visible. “I suppose so,” she said.

Professor McGonagall nodded. “The most salient part is, Professor Snape has been in He Who Must Not Be Named’s most trusted group of Death Eaters ever since he came back. And before he disappeared, as well.”

Harry scowled. “We all knew that.”

“Yes, well. In that position, he has been Headmaster Dumbledore’s most reliable source of information for years, and the higglewumps may compromise that.”

“He did tell me that,” Hermione admitted. “He said being married to a mudblood - because of two higglewumps He Who Must Not Be Named didn’t know he even had - could cause some serious problems.”

Ron’s eyes went wide. “He called you a mudblood? To your _face?_ ”

“It’s okay,” Hermione mumbled, but Ron didn’t seem like he was listening.

“The situation is not,” Professor McGonagall interjected. “Severus may well be able to explain away the marriage as having to put on a good face for Dumbledore, but He Who Must Not Be Named will undoubtedly be suspicious if the higglewump not only fails to kill you, but also fails to be turned into a tool for assassinating his most dangerous enemies. Such as Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore.”

Hermione had been thinking that exact thing earlier in the day. “If the next confrontation with a higglewump is in public again,” she said, “I think . . . I will need to be the one to kill it. That’s the only way Sev- Professor Snape can get out of this. He Who Must Not Be Named will expect him to intentionally let the higglewumps eat me, or at the very least, for him to try to gain command over them. So if he’s not there when everything happens, he can say I thwarted his plans by being smarter than he expected.”

“You’d think he’d start expecting you to be smart by now,” Harry said. No one laughed.

“It is Professor Snape’s request that you spend your evening practicing your higglewumpish,” Professor McGonagall announced. “He also asked that I help you look through some books he selected in case they contain information about how to kill a higglewump. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter, you could be of use in both arenas, if you are willing?”

Ron and Harry both nodded.

“Excellent. Headmaster Dumbledore suggested we get a house-elf to help with the part of the higglewump while Severus is away - he should be here any minute-”

“He’s going away?” Hermione asked in disbelief. “Now?”

Professor McGonagall regarded her steadily over the square lenses of her glasses. “He had no choice,” she said in a quiet voice. “We had managed to keep the existence of the higglewumps quiet until this afternoon, but that couldn’t last. The rumors were around the school within an hour of Professor Snape carrying you into the castle, and at least one student with family ties to He Who Must Not Be Named must have contacted their parents with the news. Professor Snape was summoned during supper.”

“The mark on his arm.”

“Yes.”

Hermione fought down a wave of bile at the thought. She was saved having to answer by a *pop* and the appearance of Dobby, nearly completely dwarfed by the enormous stack of books he was carrying.

“Dobby is here to help, sir!” he announced.


	19. Chapter 19

While Dobby, Professor McGonagall, and Ron all sorted through the books, Hermione drew Harry off to the side and quickly explained everything she could about higglewumps. Harry listened keenly, waiting until she drew to a close before asking any questions.

“So you don’t really know how to kill them?”

“Not without killing a unicorn or digging up a body,” she admitted. “Professor Snape said there was another way, but we really don’t have the first idea what it might be. Hence the books.”

“Okay, next question - what’s the best way to practice your higglewumpish? None of us would be able to tell you whether you’re getting it right.”

“Yeah, I thought of that too. Although . . .” Hermione turned and watched the others for a moment. “Dobby? Would you please do me a favor?”

The house-elf turned with alacrity and bowed. “Anything, Miss Granger, sir!”

“Could you please fetch Hagrid? He may not be able to cast the spells, but he knows more about higglewumps than the rest of us put together.”

Dobby performed another elaborate bow and disappeared. Professor McGonagall set down the slim volume she was leafing through and waved her wand to unlock the door. “I should have thought of that, Miss Granger - Sorry. Mrs. Snape. I’m afraid I sometimes discount him because he doesn’t do magic, but his knowledge about magical creatures is really quite impressive.”

Harry shot Hermione an inquisitive glance. “Did you choose to change your last name, Hermione, or is it a magical thing?”

“Magical thing,” Ron replied for her. “It’s part of the spell.”

“But that’s so outdated!” Harry’s forehead crinkled. “I would have thought you, of all people, Hermione-”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted. She really didn’t want to talk about her marriage with her friends - they wouldn’t understand. Ron especially seemed to take personal offense at Hermione being in a relationship with someone else, even a magical one. _Like he has a claim on me?_ It was bad enough that year when Viktor was at Hogwarts, with Ron stomping around and muttering all the time . . .

 _Severus isn’t like that._ She didn’t have to be told that to know it was true. He was protective of her, sure, but he didn’t just see her intelligence as something to be used when it was convenient and mocked when it wasn’t. She vaguely wondered whether he still ever thought of her as an “insufferable know-it-all” or whether she had grown out of it over the years.

They all heard Hagrid’s pounding footsteps on the stairs outside the room before he made it to the door. He had to duck to get through the doorway - was that part of the reason he really only came into the castle for meals in the great hall? - but he gave them all a cheery wave once he got inside.

“Dobby tells me you’re studying higglewumps. Good fer you, Hermione - get back on the horse and all that. How can I help?”

They quickly settled into a routine which kept them busy for almost three hours: Ron flipped through books at random and brought occasional passages to the attention of Professor McGonagall, who eyed them through her square-rimmed glasses and sometimes took a few notes. Dobby helped move books from one stack to another, his expression ecstatic that he was being of use. And Hermione and Harry duelled.

It wasn’t really duelling - not like in Defense Against the Dark Arts class or even the occasional practices (sanctioned or not) they had done before. But someone had to stand in for the higglewump, and it had to be someone Hermione didn’t need to worry about hurting, so it needed to be Harry. She stuck with relatively harmless spells - disarming him, binding him with magical ropes, stupefying him so he couldn’t cast anything. They were both winded after the first half hour.

And Hagrid stood on the sidelines and corrected her higglewumpish. He was more exacting than Hermione had ever seen him in his Magical Creatures class, and after one particularly exasperating round she told him so.

“I have to be, Hermione,” he said. “This is _important._ I know ye’ll probably never encounter a blast-ended skrewt in the wild, but you will see a higglewump again - soon - and your life may depend on whether you know what to do. Yer husband’s life, too.”

Ron slammed his book closed angrily. “Will everyone stop calling Professor Snape her husband?”

Hermione looked him straight in the eye. “But he is, Ron. He is my husband, at least for now, and I’m not going to deny him that respect.”

“Lord, when you glare at me like that, you almost look like him.” Ron looked down and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Hermione-”

“Then don’t.” She really didn’t want to hear it. “Let’s keep working.”

Three hours of dueling practice later, Hermione felt she had a bit better grasp of how higglewumpish body language worked, and Harry looked about ready to fall over from exhaustion. Ron and Professor McGonagall still hadn’t found anything useful.

“Time for you all to get to bed,” Professor McGonagall finally announced. “Hermione, you have the option of either spending the night in my quarters, or Headmaster Dumbledore has offered the option of his guest room if you’d rather be there. We all still feel you’re safest in the teachers’ wing of the castle at night, I’m afraid.” Her expression softened. “If you really want to, though, I can bring my things and accompany you back to the Gryffindor tower for just the one night. I know you haven’t had a lot of time to spend with the other sixth-year girls.”

 _I was hoping to sleep with him_ . . . Hermione caught the words before they actually came out of her mouth - there would be no explaining _that_ , if she let it slip. But ever since . . . everything that afternoon . . . Hermione had been working on the assumption that she’d finally get to share a bed with her husband that night. Apparently she’d have to wait. She wondered whether he was feeling the same frustration she was.

But there was no way she wanted to face Ginny and Lavender and Parvati and the other Gryffindor girls - not while she was pining over Severus. And worried about him, especially tonight . . .

“Your quarters would be fine, Professor McGonagall.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Thank you for extending the invitation.”


	20. Chapter 20

It wasn’t as awkward as Hermione had expected. Professor McGonagall’s quarters were just across the hall from Professor Snape’s, for one thing, and for another, Professor McGonagall’s sofa bed was quite comfortable. Moreso because instead of unfolding into a lumpy bed with a thin mattress, it pulled out into a full queen-size bed with box springs and piles of throw pillows and the softest sheets Hermione had ever run her hand over. Professor McGonagall came across the hall with her so Hermione could get her nightdress and brush her teeth, then they went back and settled down with some of Professor Snape’s books. Hermione read until she couldn’t think straight anymore, with no progress. When she fell asleep, Professor McGonagall was still reading.

The knock on the door bolted Hermione out of a strange dream. It was well past midnight, and Professor McGonagall’s parlor was only faintly lit by the moonlight coming in the window and the sliver of light coming under the door from the hallway. Hermione grabbed her wand to turn on the lamps, but Professor McGonagall was quicker.

“Stay there, please,” she whispered to Hermione as she padded barefoot from her bedroom to the door. She lit a single lamp on the table near the window with a quick spell. Hermione noticed that her nightdress had little purple flowers on it.

She paused at the door, wand ready, then threw it open. And nearly fell over as Professor Snape collapsed inward on top of her. He was apologizing, over and over . . .

Hermione was at his side so fast, she thought she might have apparated. Her husband fixed his attention on her face, pain clouding his eyes, but frightfully intense all the same.

“I didn’t tell him, Hermione,” he whispered. “Didn’t tell . . .”

Professor McGonagall cast _mobilicorpus,_ and Hermione dashed ahead to open Professor Snape’s quarters and clear the way for her husband’s body to float through to his bed. He kept his eyes on Hermione the whole time.

She didn’t start crying until she saw his feet. He still had his shoes on, technically, but the soles were melted away to almost nothing and the bottoms of his feet were burned so badly they were black in places. _No wonder he couldn’t stand . . ._

“Go get Madame Pomfrey,” she urged Professor McGonagall.

“No,” her husband argued. “Can’t let her know where I was. Can’t let anyone-”

“Don’t be daft, Severus,” Professor McGonagall snapped. “Those need attention, and quickly!”

“Don’t tell!”

“Fine,” she grumbled. “I’ll go and fetch bandages myself and Hermione and I will do our best. But so help me, Severus, if those get worse . . .” She turned to Hermione. “Will you be all right watching him for a few minutes? I’ll be right back.”

Hermione nodded, never taking her eyes off her husband’s face. He gripped her hand tightly. “Can I . . .” She gulped. “Can I cast something to make it better?”

“You can try,” he whispered.

Lord help her, she did. She tried _episkey_ , she tried _reparo_ , she even tried a simple cheering charm. The cheering charm helped the most, bringing a ghost of a smile to his lips. She finally lay on the bed next to him and just wrapped her arms around him and held him tight against her, feathering tiny kisses along his forehead, his cheeks, his eyelids . . .

He growled low in his throat and kissed her back whenever part of her face came within reach. “I’m sorry,” he whispered gruffly. “Didn’t mean to leave you alone for so long-”

“I know it wasn’t your fault,” she interrupted. “Just hold on until Professor McGonagall gets back and we’ll do our best to bandage you up.”

Professor McGonagall returned in record time, bearing an armload of ointments and wrappings. She and Hermione worked quickly, sometimes with magic and sometimes just with their hands, and soon they had Professor Snape’s shoes and socks off (with magic) and the wrappings on (manually) and eventually Professor Snape’s feet were trussed up like tiny mummies in little balls of bandages. Professor McGonagall gathered all the remaining unguents and wrappings in her arms and caught Hermione’s eye on her way out the door. “Take care of him,” she said softly.

Hermione waited until the professor had left and the door to the parlor had closed before she stripped off her husband’s robes and pulled the sheets and coverlet up over their two bodies. He reached for her automatically, spooning up against her back and snuggling his warm chest against her. Hermione extinguished the lights.

“Better?”

“Much.”

They lay awake like that for several minutes, not talking, until Hermione realized neither of them was likely to fall asleep anytime soon.

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

He nuzzled at the back of her neck through her hair. “Just about what I expected would happen when the Dark Lord found out about the higglewumps - I got a summons.”

“And he was angry?”

She could feel her husband’s shrug through his embrace. “He wanted to be. And he was, at first. He . . .” His voice broke. “He positioned himself in front of the fire, then demanded I stand before him and explain myself.”

Hermione squeezed his arm tight around herself. “On the flames?”

“The coals.” He took a deep breath. “Occlumency is . . . much harder when your mind is occupied. I think he was counting on the pain to break me.”

“He searched your mind, then.”

His laugh was little more than a puff of air against her neck. “He Who Must Not Be Named is quite possibly the second-greatest legilimens in England.”

“Who’s the greatest?”

“Me.”

It was a matter-of-fact statement, with only a hint of pride. Hermione realized she could easily believe it of him. “Was your occlumency up to the task?”

“Yes, thank the spirits.” He crushed her to him and buried more kisses in her hair. “This time . . . there would have been a lot to lose.”

“So did you lie to him? What did you say?” She wasn’t entirely sure how the mechanics of legilimency and occlumency worked, but if anyone could fool the Dark Lord, it would be her husband.

“It’s not like that,” he replied quietly. “It’s not a question of lying, as much as of selectively hiding true memories. And of allowing the legilimens to find enough other memories that they confirm whatever they thought in the first place, without giving them evidence otherwise. I allowed him to see my first experience with the higglewumps, when I was a child, and my occasional brushes with them afterward. I let him see how they caught me this week and how you rescued me, and how Hagrid made us say marriage vows to save you. How I was . . .” He swallowed. “How I was furious at you for interfering. I didn’t let him see that it was because I didn’t want you putting yourself at risk for my sake. I left him believing I was only still married to you because Headmaster Dumbledore would have demanded it, would have questioned my loyalty to Hogwarts if I had refused and left you at the higglewumps’ mercy.”

Hermione’s mouth felt dry. “But that’s not the only reason?” she whispered.

He squeezed her tightly. “No.”

“So he believes you’re still loyal to him?”

“I’ve been careful to give him no reason to believe otherwise.” He let his hand drift across her stomach, igniting a heat which pooled low inside her. “He was clear, though, that he expects me to use the higglewumps to my advantage.”

She swallowed. “Against whom?”

His lips touched the shell of her ear. “You,” he whispered. “And Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley, and Headmaster Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall, and the students . . . the higglewumps are the first truly troublesome creature to get on Hogwarts grounds since the dementors, and he expects me to give them free reign.” He planted a kiss in the tender hollow behind her ear, making her shiver. “He underestimates you, wife.”

Hermione rolled over in his arms, meeting his lips with her own. “I trust you.”


	21. Chapter 21

The next day was Saturday, for which Hermione was absurdly grateful. She was awakened by a knock on the door and Dobby’s voice in the hallway. “Breakfast for you, sirs!”

She felt her husband’s eyes following her as she got up and went into the parlor to take the breakfast tray from Dobby. He handed her both the tray and a good-sized sack.

“More bandages and potions for Professor Snape, sir. Headmaster Dumbledore was insistent he stay in bed as long as possible and rest today.”

“Thank you, Dobby.” Hermione put her hand out to steady the house-elf before he vibrated so hard in his pleasure at being thanked that he fell over. In a lower voice, she added, “Could you do one more thing for me, though? Could you please go down to Professor Snape’s study and find me a bottle of awareness potion and a sleeping draught?”

Dobby beamed at her. “I will, sir! I will be fast!”

Hermione closed the door behind him and managed to wrangle both the tray and the bag of bandages back to the bedroom without dropping either. Professor Snape had pushed himself up to be leaning against the headboard. He still looked a little ashen, but his eyes were no longer clouded.

“Breakfast,” she said.

“I see.” His face was back in that inscrutable mask. Anyone looking at him now would have no idea what had transpired between the two of them of the course of the last twenty-four hours. Although it’s possible his feet were paining him again . . .

Hermione tugged the covers off the bed and set the tray on the bed next to her husband. While he picked at the food, she opened the sack of bandages and got to work re-wrapping his feet.

“They don’t look as bad this morning, honestly,” she said. “How do they feel?”

“Like I stood in a fire,” he replied acerbically.

They really weren’t as bad as they had been when he first came back. The soles of his feet were still angry and raw, but there was new skin forming under the blisters and the balls of his feet were no longer charred and blackened. Hermione spread the burn-be-gone ointment over his skin as gently as possible and re-wrapped each foot tightly.

Dobby returned just as she finished packing everything back into the sack. He handed her one blue vial and one greasy black one. “Is that what you are wanting, sir?”

“Those are exactly it. Thank you.” She glanced back toward the bedroom. “Dobby, one more favor, if you would - could you please . . . could you bring Ron and Harry here? Tell them to bring the map - they’ll know what I mean.”

Hermione paused a moment to get her expression under control before going back into the bedroom. She hated to lie to her husband . . . not _lie_ , exactly, but . . .

“What was that about?” he asked.

“Potions.” She held up the two vials. “Awareness potion for us both, and a sleeping draught for you.”

He scowled at her. “I never take those.”

“You will today.” She climbed up onto the bed next to him and indicated for him to bend his head so she could work the awareness potion into his hair. “Dumbledore says you have to stay in bed all day today, and the best thing for you right now is sleep. And no, grumbling about it isn’t going to make me change my mind.”

“I don’t recall having given you permission to order me around,” he snapped.

She held the wrist with the twine marriage bracelet up in his face. “I do,” she snapped back. “Take the damn potion, Severus.”

He did, eventually, but only after insisting Hermione eat a reasonable breakfast first - during which glared sullenly the whole time - and exacting a promise that she wouldn’t do anything stupid while he was asleep. Forced bedrest made him cranky, it seemed. Hermione stood over him and glared right back until he drained the tiny blue vial and settled back down onto the mattress.

“I’m right here,” she promised. And she stayed in bed next to him, running her hand over his chest and shoulder, until his breathing slowed and he stopped fighting sleep.

Hermione gave it another five minutes, just to be sure, then jumped up and got dressed. She worked a dollop of awareness potion into her own hair, then washed her hands and brushed her teeth and got herself presentable just in time for Ron and Harry and Dobby to get to the door.

She put her finger to her lips as she let them in. Ron’s eyes were wide as he took in the sunny parlor.

“I expected more of a cave, actually,” he whispered.

“I rather like it,” Hermione found herself explaining, then wondered why she was feeling defensive. “But that’s not important - did you bring the Marauder’s Map?”

Harry patted the pocket of his robe. “What’s going on, Hermione?”

“I want to see whether it shows higglewumps.”

The dawning look in Harry’s eyes would have been funny if the situation weren’t so serious. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of that, but . . . yes, it might!” He pulled out the map and tapped it with his wand. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

Lines appeared, then resolved into a map of Hogwarts. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Snape, and Dobby were all shown clustered together one one end of the castle. Other dots moved around - professors, Mrs. Norris, Peeves -

“Show me the higglewumps,” Harry breathed. And two more dots appeared. One was deep in the forest, but the other-

“What’s it doing at the main doors?” Ron asked.

“Probably trying to get in,” Hermione said. “I was wondering why they weren’t inside the castle yet, but it would make sense that Hogwarts itself has even more spells on it than the grounds do. Apparently it will break in eventually, but for now -”

“For now you know where it is,” Harry said. “Bravo, Hermione!”

“Yes, well.” She turned to Dobby, who was standing behind Harry with wide eyes. “I have one more request for you, Dobby, and I’ll understand if you’re not able to. But someone needs to keep watch over Professor Snape in case the higglewump does somehow manage to get in. I promised I would be here . . . could you please stay with him? I hope to be back before he wakes up.”

Dobby grinned and bowed almost to the floor. “Anything for you, sir!” he warbled. “The truth is -” - he leaned in conspiratorially - “- the truth is _Dobby is not wanted in the kitchens, sir!_ ” He rocked back onto his heels and tears welled in his eyes. “Headmaster Dumbledore has asked Dobby to help where he can, sir, and Dobby does, but the house-elves in the kitchen much prefer Dobby help elsewhere.”

“In that case,” said Ron, “I’m sure they would be happy for you to help us.”

“Oh, yes, sir!” Dobby exclaimed. “I will watch Professor Snape, sir!”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, and meant it. “Just - let him sleep, and if something happens, make sure he’s awake and has his wand. Get Professor McGonagall from across the hall if you can. I don’t think it will be a problem, but I don’t want to just . . . leave him.”

Harry shot her a look. Something in his eyes said he suspected more than she wanted him to. “So where are we going, Hermione? To confront a higglewump?”

She shook her head. “First, to talk to Hagrid.”


	22. Chapter 22

Hermione led Harry and Ron through the back staircase down to the dungeons, past the potions classroom and Professor Snape’s office, and back up the stairs to come out the side door nearest the greenhouse. It seemed prudent to put as much distance between themselves and the higglewump as possible until she was ready to confront it. Hermione gave silent thanks for it being an unusually windy, chilly day - even though it was a Saturday, there weren’t many students outside taking in the sunshine.

They found Hagrid in the meadow in front of his little house, surveying the damage the sylvili had caused. The ground was still green, but barely.

“Hoi, Harry! Hermione, Ron, what brings you all the way out here?” Hagrid shot them a bushy grin, which slowly disappeared as they closed the distance. “Hermione, should you be out here? Are you recovered from yesterday?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m fine. I do need your help, though.”

He waved them toward his hut, then froze in sudden realization. “Have you three been watching for higglewump circles? Seeing as you ran into one out here . . .”

“We’ve got our enchanted map, Hagrid,” Ron said. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the thing since they left the castle. “One is in the middle of the forest doing who-knows-what and the other is trying to break through the main door.”

Hagrid harrumphed. “I suppose that’s all right, then. Come inside.”

They crowded into the hut. Ron spread the map out on the table, his eyes darting to it every few seconds.

Hermione gave her argument. “We don’t know how to kill the higglewumps, not exactly, and things have . . . gotten more complicated. But I had an idea. Can you show me how to sic the higglewump on someone? I mean, order it to kill?”

Hagrid’s bushy eyebrows raised to touch his hairline. “And just who might you be wanting to kill? As much as it sounds nice to get He Who Must Not Be Named, I don’t think a higglewump would stand a chance.”

She smiled. “Exactly. If anyone knows how to kill a higglewump, it will be him. But there’s no point sending it after Voldemort - it’s looking more and more like he’s tied up in so much dark magic he can’t die until . . . well, until everything gets untangled. But I can send the higglewump after his snake, Nagini.”

Ron and Harry both goggled at her. “What if he catches it?” Ron asked.

She shrugged. “The way I see it, there are only a few possible outcomes. If the higglewump succeeds, then Voldemort is down a powerful ally - he counts on that snake a lot, right, Harry?”

Harry rubbed his scar. “Yeah.”

“So that would be good for us. It’s also possible Voldemort will kill the higglewump for threatening his familiar, which would be good for us too, since we can’t kill it ourselves.”

Harry frowned. “What if he catches it and turns it evil?”

“It’s already pretty evil, I’d say,” Ron answered.

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” said Hermione with as much authority as she could muster. “And either way, Voldemort will have to see that the attack came from me, not Professor Snape. So he can’t blame Severus for it.”

Ron raised an eyebrow. “It’s ‘Severus’ now? Really, Hermione?”

She looked away and ignored him.

Hagrid was watching her thoughtfully, rubbing his beard. “I feel like I should tell you no,” he finally said, “but you’re going to have to confront those things sometime, and one at a time is probably best. But I’ll only help on one condition: you have to let me come along.”

She looked at Ron and Harry, who shrugged. “Of course.”


	23. Chapter 23

Hagrid went over the higglewumpish with her a few times, but it wasn’t any harder than the phrases and movements Hermione had already learned. The four of them set out toward the main gates of the castle, Ron walking with his eyes on the Marauders’ Map and bumping into Harry whenever Harry slowed down too much. Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid were all keeping their eyes open for higglewump circles. They didn’t really expect to find any, since the map seemed to show both higglewumps being occupied, but it would have been stupid to not watch.

The higglewump was invisible when they first rounded the corner - just a flash of something in the sunlight, a flicker of movement, and then it was gone. Ron stopped walking and started narrating from the map. “It’s just in front of the right-hand door, Hermione. Standing perfectly still - now it’s trying to sneak away to the right -”

Hermione’s “ _Higglewump revelio!_ ” hit at about the same time Harry’s “ _Incarcerous!_ ” and Ron’s “ _Impedamenta!_ ” The creature which gradually flickered into view was built a bit like a redcap, but with the pointed nose of an erkling and improbably long, thin legs usually only found in smaller magical creatures. It hissed darkly as it struggled against the magical ropes wrapping its arms tightly to its sides.

And it was making progress - _no time to waste_. Hermione stepped in front of Harry, so she was clearly in the higglewump’s line of sight, and prayed she’d remember all the parts to the command. “ _Audite sermenum! Grazziplik tsollpkabt ix NAGINI!_ ” She finished with the proper shoulder shrug ( _remembered it!_ ) and a clear picture of Voldemort’s giant snake in her mind, willing the higglewump to understand.

It narrowed its eyes at her, but stopped struggling. Hermione felt a faint touch at the edges of her mind - similar to when she had challenged Professor Snape to eavesdrop on her thoughts, but nowhere near as nice. She forced herself to concentrate on a clear picture of Nagini. She kept her gaze locked on the higglewump, praying it would accept her command . . .

The touch on her mind disappeared. The higglewump kicked off the last of the magical bindings, and the _impedimentia_ seemed to have worn off in record time, too. Hermione had her wand out, ready to stun it again if it made a move toward her or her friends - but then the higglewump executed a perfect little bow and vanished.

 _Kpsix_. The word appeared in her head, although she was sure the higglewump hadn’t actually said anything. Hermione mulled it over for a second, then figured it was worth asking Hagrid.

Who beamed at her. “That’s acceptance, Hermione!” His huge arms engulfed her in a hug. “Kpsix means - well, it’s hard to translate directly, but it’s acknolwedgement of an intention to carry out the orders of a superior. In this case, yours.”

“Oh. Good.” Hermione’s head was suddenly spinning in a now-familiar feeling. “Hagrid, I think I need to sit down.” She slid out of his arms and landed on the grass in an undignified tangle of limbs.

“You need to get back to bed for an hour or two,” he said. “That was a lot of magic to use all at once, there. Do you need me to carry you back to your room like Snape did yesterday?”

She knew she was blushing - her cheeks went immediately hot. And she prayed none of them would guess as to the reason. “No, I’ll be fine . . .”

Ron swooped down and tucked her arm over his shoulder, motioning for Harry to come to her other side. “We’ll get her back inside, Hagrid. Thank you ever so much for your help.”

“Yes, well.” Hagrid beamed while looking like he was trying very hard not to show how proud he was to be needed. “Don’t forget there’s another one out there, and be careful.”

“It’s still in the forest,” Ron said. “I keep checking. But it hasn’t gotten in to the castle yet, so we’d better get going.” And with Harry’s help, he got Hermione to her feet and helped as she tested her legs to see if they would support her. They somewhat did.

It was a long, slow walk back to Professor Snape’s quarters, but she made it without fainting or falling again. When they got there she tried to send the map back to the Gryffindor tower with Harry and Ron, but Harry insisted she keep it for as long as she was facing higglewumps. “They’re after you,” he whispered, mindful of how they were all standing in the hallway in the professors’ wing. “You need it more than we do.”


	24. Chapter 24

Dobby looked up when she entered the bedroom - he was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the doorway and humming to himself.

“He’s still sleeping, sir!” he announced. 

“Thank you, Dobby,” she whispered back. “You really were very helpful.” She walked him to the door and didn’t let herself sag against the doorframe until he was down the hallway and around the corner.

 _Just need sleep._ She quickly stripped off her robe and underdress and slid into bed next to her husband. She left the Marauders’ Map on the bedside table, next to her wand, and reflexively checked it one more time. The higglewump in the forest hadn’t moved. Maybe it was sleeping too.

Hermione took a deep breath and snuggled closer to spoon against her husband’s bare back. He still wore his plaid pajama pants, but this way they had the skin-to-skin contact she probably needed to recharge her magical energy . . . He snored faintly, and she snaked a daring arm around his ribs to drape herself more tightly against him. It was heaven.

She dozed there, spooned up against him, for what seemed like hours. Hermione didn’t think she ever fell asleep, not totally, but she watched the shadows of the bedposts move across the wall as the time passed and she let herself daydream. She envisioned his mouth on hers, the smooth friction of their bodies sliding against each other as they moved. She thought about how he looked in potions class, with his focused, hard eyes and a sharp tongue ready to flay any student who dared displease him. She remembered the look of bewildered pain on his face as she and Professor McGonagall bandaged his feet the previous night, and the heart-wrenchingly blank mask he wore when he prepared to face the school without letting any hint slip about what he and Hermione had done with their afternoon in bed. He was complex, but somehow even the worst bitingly sarcastic put-downs and accusatory glares now seemed - maybe not endearing, really, but endurable. Just a part of the person he was. And Hermione was starting to discover she rather liked learning more about the real man.

She was jerked out of her reverie by the feel of warm breath on her palm, then gentle kisses on the sensitive skin between her fingers. He had found the hand she had left resting on his chest and brought it up to his mouth without her noticing. He drew one fingertip into his mouth and sucked, and Hermione felt an answering response from deep inside her.

“I could get used to waking up like this.” The vibrations from his voice traveled through his body and into hers, pressed against him, and Hermione knew he could feel her heart speed up. He rolled to his back, still keeping her arm wrapped around him, dragging her so she lay half-draped across his stomach. “Have you been keeping me warm this whole time?”

The fire in his eyes was certainly warming her up . . . Hermione considered how best to answer. He wouldn’t want to hear . . . “I’ve tried to make sure you were safe.”

He started to pull her closer for a kiss, but stopped and cupped her jaw in his palm instead. “Hermione . . . I trusted you enough to let you drug me. That’s something I never do. Tell me you stayed here, that you didn’t go do something dangerous.” His dark eyes pierced into hers, willing her to tell the truth.

And she found she couldn’t lie to him. “I - I didn’t go alone.”

Something changed at her words. His face got harder, more like the Professor Snape she had always known than the husband she found she was coming to enjoy. In a matter of moments his open expression was gone and in its place was something she had hoped she’d never have face again - that perfect blankness.

“What did you do?” His fingers firmed, biting into her skin now instead of caressing her gently. “Hermione, what -”

 _I won’t let him intimidate me._ “I tracked down a higglewump,” she found herself saying. “I took Ron and Harry and Hagrid and we caught one of the higglewu-”

He snarled - actually snarled - and suddenly Hermione was flat on her back with her husband looming above her, pinning her arms down into the mattress with his full weight on her biceps. “How _dare_ you?” he growled.

“How dare I what?” It came out breathier than she had intended, but an enraged Snape - past the point of carefully cutting insults - was wreaking havoc with her heart rate and her lungs.

“How dare you do that on your own?” He raked her gaze over her face, not bothering to conceal his sneer. “You think you can take on a fully grown higglewump with just your Gryffindor friends for support? I had always pegged you for an intelligent witch, Miss Granger, but I’m sorry to say you’ve proved disappointing in that regard.”

“It’s Mrs. Snape.” His reversion to her maiden name pushed a button inside of her she didn’t know she had. “I may not have had a choice about changing it, but do me the respect of calling me by my correct name.”

“You disrespect my own name, _wife_.” He spat the word. “What made you think you should-”

“I did.” She glared daggers right back. “And I told it to go kill Voldemort’s snake Nagini. And it went. So don’t _you_ dare lecture me about what I can and cannot do.”

His mask cracked - just for a second - and Hermione was gratified to see the astonishment on his face. “You sent it to . . . you truly thought that would work? Why not just assassinate the Dark Lord, while you’re at it?”

“Truly?” She held his dark gaze. “No. I expect the higglewump will die. But it’s a win/win situation for us, isn’t it? Either Voldemort loses his pet, or we lose a liability we didn’t want anyway. We still haven’t found a good way to kill it ourselves, so why not let Voldemort do it for us?”

“Why not . . .” Hermione had never seen him at such a loss for words before. He rolled off her and grabbed his wand. “I’ll show you.”

And then she was torn in two. She knew her body was safely in her husband’s bed at Hogwarts, but part of her was also in a dark clearing in a forest somewhere, skin prickling at the chill in the night air. And all around her were -

Death Eaters. She knew without really even looking at their faces. Although the Dark Lord himself standing in front of her was a dead giveaway. He commanded she step forward, into the glowing remains of the bonfire which lay between herself and him, and she knew she had to obey . . .

Voldemort plundered her mind even as the coals melted through her shoes. Hermione knew she was in her husband’s body, could feel the mental defenses he was throwing up against the onslaught, but she couldn’t separate her own mind so cooly from the agony she was experiencing in her legs. He kept his feet firmly planted in the fire, though, so she couldn’t escape - could only experience the pain as it surged through the soles of her feet and went from painful to excruciating in a matter of moments. And continued on, and on . . .

Her consciousness snapped back to the present and she was surprised to feel the tears on her face. A sound in the room eventually resolved into her own voice, breathless wails at the phantom pain in her feet. And now her husband was cradling her, running a hand through her hair and murmuring soothing words.

“Hush, Hermione,” he whispered. “I’m sorry - I wanted to spare you that if I could -”

“He did that to you,” she panted. “He did that because of me . . .”

“Not you.” He kissed her forehead. “Because I had hidden the higglewumps from him. And because he doesn’t trust me, not completely. And because he enjoys causing pain. But now I will have to go back, apologize, and it will almost certainly be worse.”

“I’m sorry - I’m so sorry!”

He buried his face in her hair and just held her. They both jumped when the owls rapped at the window. There were three of them, carrying something large between them. Hermione waved her wand at the window and whispered a silent _alohamora,_ and the owls dumped their parcel on the floor.

The higglewump.

It was grayish-green - and very, very dead. Hermione felt her husband’s arms tighten around her. “That’s that, then,” he murmured. “No going back now.”


	25. Chapter 25

She didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to give up the safety of the bed, the one place they had ever managed to be completely open with each other. “Do we have to go anywhere?” she asked, hating the whine in her voice.

“You should stay here and rest,” he said quietly. “I need to go.”

“But your feet-”

“Are much better now, thank you.” He gingerly unwrapped the bandages, then swung his legs over the edge of the bed and tentatively stood. He gathered his robes with a deft flick of his wand and dressed quickly, not meeting her eyes.

Hermione could only watch in horror as he donned his armor - not that his robes and shoes were likely to stop Voldemort, of course, but his mental shields slid into place. Once he was dressed he became Severus Snape the Death Eater again. Even the pinched look on his face - the telltale sign that his feet were _not_ all healed - melted away into that blank mask. The transformation made Hermione want to cry.

“Where are you going to go?” she asked instead.

The look he gave her was devoid of emotion - just that faint impersonal sneer. “To my study, first, to prepare, and then to meet the Dark Lord. I expect he will want me to grovel.”

“Can I . . .”

“No, you may not.” He leveled a professorial glare at her, the one that had always made her feel the size of a doxie and half as useful. “You have done quite enough already.”

She did cry, then - fat tears welling in her eyes and there was nothing she could do about it. He showed no reaction. Hermione buried her face in the pillow - and when she looked up, both her husband and the higglewump’s poisoned body were gone.

_To hell with this._ Hermione took a deep breath and held it until she felt her chest stop quivering, then blew it slowly out and dried her cheeks with the coverlet. She had to end this quickly - and there was only one person who could help. Dumbledore.


	26. Chapter 26

Hermione had expected an argument, or at least to have to explain herself, but Headmaster Dumbledore seemed perfectly content to follow her to the Forbidden Forest with a minimum of fuss. He didn’t even seem surprised when she pulled out her map to check for the higglewump.

“You’d be surprised how much I know about what goes on at this school,” he said in answer to her embarrassed look. “I don’t need a map to do so, but that paper really is an impressive piece of work all the same. I hope you and Harry and Ron have been putting it to good use.”

“Err . . . yes?” Hermione wasn’t entirely sure whether Dumbledore would approve of Harry sneaking off to Hogsmeade or skulking through the halls in the middle of the night, but if he claimed to know about their goings-on already . . .

A thought occurred to her. “Are you keeping an eye on Professor Snape as well? When he’s with - with You Know Who?”

Dumbledore smiled paternally. “I watch what I can - but no, I’m not able to watch everything outside these walls. I did send Dobby with him today, so he can return here the moment it is safe to do so.”

That was a small relief - but only a small one. Snape was still out there, being punished for her actions . . . Hermione checked her speed as they reached the edge of the forest.

“I don’t know for sure this will work,” she admitted. “Will we be safe enough to go in there after it? I don’t even know what the higglewump is doing.”

“There are few things in the forest that will bother us,” Dumbledore replied, “and they’re easy enough to avoid. I am glad you are appropriately aware of the danger, though - I believe Hagrid and I are probably the only two people at Hogwarts who can walk these woods safely.” He nodded toward her map. “I suspect we’ll find the higglewump in one of the shallow caves which litter that section of the forest - it’s a logical place for it to regroup and plan another attack.”

Hermione shuddered. “I don’t want an attack. I don’t want to face it at all - but I don’t want my husband to have to face it either.” She saw again in her mind the green face of the dead higglewump. “He shouldn’t have to jeopardize his . . . you know.” _Spying? His position with Voldemort?_ She wasn’t sure exactly what his position was, but having a higglewump at his disposal would certainly make it more dangerous . . .

They worked their way forward through the underbrush. Hermione gave silent thanks that this was at least during the afternoon - she wasn’t sure she would have been able to handle doing this at night -

“He trusts you,” Dumbledore said after several minutes of silence.

“He kind of had to.”

“Not true.” Dumbledore held back a branch for her as they cut through a section of low brush. “I can think of only four people at Hogwarts who could have commanded a lineage-bound higglewump to go on a suicide mission, Hermione. Severus, Minerva, myself - and you.” He cast a quick _lumos_ to light their way now that they were deeper in the forest. “If you had been any other student - indeed, any other professor - Severus would have had to place you under as much protection as possible and seek out the higglewumps himself. He chose not to do that, because he knew you would be capable of learning what you needed to do.”

“But he was so _angry_ with me . . .” Hermione fought back a wave of nausea as she remembered what Voldemort had done to him. _He had reason_ . . . she ducked her head to check the map again, partly to hide her face. “Am I making it worse?”

She forced herself to glance back over her shoulder - and found Dumbledore’s gaze, firm but kind. “Sometimes war forces us to do things we don’t want to do, Hermione. Severus is paying that price more than most.”

“So that’s a yes.” She swallowed against the lump in her throat.

“That’s a reality of war. Every advance we make against Voldemort has a reaction - and in this case, Voldemort may very well take out his anger on Severus. But Hermione?” His lips twitched upward into a tiny smile. “You have made Severus happier than he’s been in a very long time. I think he’d say the net effect is positive.”

Hermione ducked her head again and blushed. Surely he wasn’t referring to . . . but then if he knew everything that happened at Hogwarts, perhaps he was?

“You may want to look at that map again,” Dumbledore said. “I suspect the higglewump is very close.”

They searched for nearly twenty minutes before they found the cave. It was slow going, mostly because they both had to watch for spell circles as they moved and Hermione had to consult the map frequently. Finally she saw the hidden hollow underneath the cliff, almost buried in the overgrowth, and she motioned silently to Dumbledore.

He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll draw it out and immobilize it,” he whispered. “But I can’t command it - that’s up to you.”

Hermione was glad she hadn’t really eaten more than a moderate breakfast that morning - anything else would have been making a reappearance. She gripped her wand tightly and nodded. Dumbledore kept his hand on her shoulder, the weight a comforting reminder of his presence.

The spells, when he cast them, were so rapid-fire Hermione couldn’t track them all. Dumbledore cast most of them silently - just some muttered syllables and several flicks of his wand, and then an obviously irate higglewump was dangling in the air in a luminous bubble a few paces ahead of them. _My turn._

Hermione planted her feet, took inventory of her body language, and stared straight into the higglewump’s angry eyes.

“ _Audite sermenum! Grazziplik tsollpkabt ix grazzi!_ ” Her legs were trembling, but she held its gaze without flinching. “ _Grazziplik. Tsollpkabt. Ix. Grazzi._ ”

 _You. Kill. Yourself._ She had no idea whether the command would work or not, but she couldn’t afford to be wrong. The higglewump squirmed inside the bubble, glaring back at her. Hermione felt it leeching energy away . . .

“ _GRAZZIPLIK TSOLLPKABT IX GRAZZI!_ ” Only Dumbledore’s hand on her shoulder reminded her to do the little half-shrug in time. Her legs still felt weak, but a warmth was spreading from her shoulder where he was touching her, enabling her to stay upright.

“ _Grazziplik tsollpkabt ix grazzi. Grazziplik tsollpkabt ix grazzi!_ ” The higglewump was fighting her, she could tell - the magic felt like a current, flowing out of her and toward the bubble. But it was being replenished just as fast by Dumbledore’s silent hand on her shoulder, feeding her energy and helping her maintain her balance.

They stayed locked like that for ages. After several long minutes, the higglewump seemed to shrink. The drain on Hermione’s magic lessened as it folded in on itself. Its eyes grew colder, it opened its mouth to shriek silently inside the confines of the bubble -

And then it was done as quickly as it had began. The higglewump drew one claw across its throat and collapsed, blood flowing everywhere. Hermione held herself perfectly still until everything in the bubble had stopped moving. After a long minute of silence, Dumbledore lowered the bubble to the ground and let it pop gently.

“So that’s that,” he said.

Hermione swallowed. “I suppose so.” She looked at the small, limp form. “Is there anything more we - we have to do?”

Dumbledore flicked his wand toward the higglewump’s corpse. Its hair - nasty, stringy strands - separated neatly from the body and folded itself into a large jar he extracted from his pocket. “Severus would probably have a use for more of it than this,” he explained, “but I have no interest in hauling the entire body back to the castle.”

Hermione had to agree. Now that the fight was done . . . she bounced on the balls of her feet a few times. It was impossible to stand still. “I feel like jumping and yelling,” she admitted.

“I’m not surprised.” Dumbledore re-kindled his _lumos_ spell and gestured for her to precede him back the way they came. “I channeled a massive amount of energy through you during that standoff. Now that the higglewump is dead, some of that energy is probably bouncing back.”

Hermione cast a quick spell and levitated herself a few feet into the air. It made crashing through the forest much easier. “Is it dangerous?”

Dumbledore smiled. “Not at all - I remember feeling that exultation several times in my youth. You may want to save your energy, however.”

“Why?”

“You’ll need it when we get back to the castle. Severus just got back. And he needs you.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the other chapter which is rightfully "M." If you prefer your stories with a "T" rating, skip ahead to the final chapter below.

Hermione desperately wished she could apparate. As it was, she and Dumbledore picked their way back through the forbidden forest with agonizing slowness. The sun was much lower on the horizon when they finally made it back to the castle. Dumbledore walked her back to Professor Snape’s quarters and dismissed her with a friendly nod. “Don’t forget,” he said, “no matter how surly or hurt he may be - he needs you right now. Do what you can to help him.”

She swallowed. “I will.”

And then he left her, and she finally got to go in and see her husband. The excess magic felt like it had transformed, turning her from a bouncing ball of energy into a nervous wreck. Hermione prepared herself for the worst as she looked through the bedroom door-

-and the truth was so much worse than she had imagined. Hermione fought back the bile rising in her throat as she took in her husband’s battered condition. He was flopped sideways carelessly on the bed as if he had been dumped there. His robes were torn and singed in several places. And he was shivering, staring with blank eyes at the bedroom wall. He didn’t acknowledge her presence with even a flicker of recognition, not even when she put her hand on his ankle and squeezed gently.

_First things first_. Hermione removed his robe and underrobe with a flick of her wand, directing them to a neat pile in the corner. He didn’t react. With the robes gone, Hermione could see the marks on his skin - angry welts criss-crossing his chest, purple splotches darkening into bruises dotting his skin, and several raw, abraded patches speckled with blood. All of him was speckled in blood, actually, and it looked like some of the welts were still oozing. Hermione left his drawers where they were, not wanting to know if evidence of worse abuse was beneath them.

Quickly she stripped off her own robe and underdress. She murmured a quick scourgify spell, for herself as well as for him, washing off the worst of her forest grime and his drying blood. And then she carefully - as carefully as she could - climbed onto the mattress behind him and scooted forward so she could wrap her arms around him and press their bodies together, skin-to-skin, from shoulders to toes.

“Severus?”

No response.

Hermione buried her face in the walnut-and-honey scent of his hair and pressed kisses to the back of his neck. She was careful not to squeeze his ribs, aware there might be even more internal damage than was obvious from the outside, but she couldn’t prevent herself from spooning against him.

And she prayed. Hermione wasn’t usually particularly religious, but it felt like the right thing to do. She wasn’t even praying _to_ anyone in particular, just a cry to the universe . . . She willed all Dumbledore’s extra energy to flow through her into her husband’s broken body, willed it to heal him. Willed him to move, to speak, to react _somehow_ so she’d know he was still the same incredible man she-

_Loved?_ The word came unbidden to her mind. Hermione expected some sort of instinctive refusal, some rejection of the idea, but none came. _I love him_. It was a momentous realization.

Hermione suddenly realized that the shivering had stopped. He was dragging in great, uneven breaths, but his skin felt warmer underneath her fingers and he was no longer shuddering in the same way. She allowed her hand to drift down and find his.

And he squeezed her fingers. A lump formed in her throat. Hermione realized his hair was wet, and then she realized it was her own tears.

“Her - Hermione?” His voice cracked, and her heart broke at the uncertainty in his tone.

“I’m here.” She pressed more kisses to the back of his scalp, his neck, his shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

“The higglewump-”

“Both dead.” She let her free hand sift through the silky strands of hair splayed across the pillow. “Dumbledore and I killed the other outright while you were gone. The Dark Lord can hardly hold you responsible for something I did while you were-” She checked herself, not sure what had happened, but aware he probably wouldn’t want to talk about it.

His body stilled, and she realized he was holding his breath. “You killed it?”

“I commanded it to kill itself. It eventually obeyed.”

He murmured something which could have been “clever girl,” but Hermione couldn’t be certain she heard him properly.

“It drained a lot of magic - more than I could have hoped to wield on my own - but Headmaster Dumbledore kept channeling more energy through me, until the higglewump couldn’t fight any longer, I think.” She thought back to the higglewump’s face, its accusing glare. “I - I suspect I’ll be seeing it in my dreams for ages.”

“A brave Gryffindor right up to the end,” he said, and for once there wasn’t scorn in his voice at the name of her house. “And now you have magic to spare.”

Hermione couldn’t suppress a little wriggle. “I was literally walking on air on the way back, but I was desperate to come find you. You need to replenish your own magic, Severus - this is all I know to do -”

His hoarse laugh startled her, even though it disintegrated into a long, dry coughing spell. “There is a better way, if you’re feeling up to it.” He shifted his hips, rubbing his backside against her nether regions. Hermione felt the answering tug throughout her whole body.

“What . . .” She had to clear her throat. “What would work best?”

“Fewer clothes, for one.”

Hermione tapped his drawers and her own undergarments with her wand, adding them to the pile in the corner.

It took a minute and a lot of rearranging of limbs, but eventually Severus managed to roll over to his other side so they were lying face to face. He reached out one hand and captured her skull with those long fingers, drawing her face to his for a drugging kiss. Hermione was thoroughly breathless when he finally broke away. Seeing the twinkle in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine.

They both lay almost entirely still - he was only moving one arm, his fingers tracing lightly over Hermione’s skin - but she tingled everywhere he touched, her skin on fire and aching for more. He traced the side of her jaw, along the lines of her neck, and down to her breasts. He spent a long minute there, lightly kneading and caressing her, until Hermione was breathing in shallow pants. Only then did he continue his feather-light trail downward, over her quivering stomach, and around the side of her hip. Hermione could have wept in frustration - he was avoiding the place she needed his touch the most -

Until he finished his detour over her hip and the outside edges of her quadriceps, and traced the delicate skin inward to the jointure of her thighs. Hermione gasped aloud when he finally speared those long fingers through her pubic hair and stroked her.

“You like that?” he whispered.

She would have glared, if he hadn’t just then traced one wicked fingertip around her entrance and nudged inside. Her indignation melted into a thready gasp, and he chuckled. His questing finger was joined by a second, spreading her and tracing patterns on her nether skin until she felt like she would die if she didn’t feel more of him right that very second. Hermione ran her hand down his side and reached for the obvious evidence he was just as aroused as she.

His throaty moan as her hand closed around him nearly made her come right there. Hermione was determined to return the delicate touches, tit for tat - everything his fingers did to her, she’d do a reciprocal movement on him -

She didn’t get the chance. He tolerated only a few seconds of her touch before he scissored his legs against the muddled sheets and removed his hand. “Hermione,” he groaned, “I want you on me - I want to be inside you -”

Hermione scrambled to do what he asked. She helped him settle onto his back, then clambered over to sit astride his hips. All the welts and bruises and abrasions were clearly pushed aside from his mind now - all his attention was focused on her as she positioned herself and slowly lowered down.

And _LORD_ he felt good inside her. Hermione tilted her hips forward, just a fraction, but it was enough to nudge him deeper. They both gasped. “Is that okay?” she asked.

He squeezed his eyes closed and nodded vigorously. “It will be even more okay when you start moving,” he groaned.

And so help her, she did. It took a few moments to get the balance and the rhythm right, but when she did . . .

At first she tried to be gentle, tried not to let any of her weight on him. But then he brought those wicked fingers to where they were joined and started idly playing with her, and all thought of gentleness fell by the wayside. Hermione rode him thoroughly, rising until he was almost out of her and slamming back down so they both felt the friction throughout their entire bodies. She tried slow and fast, tried sitting hard and grinding her pelvis against his so he was as deep as he could go and his questing fingers were trapped between her hips and his, pressing helplessly into her flesh.

She felt when he was getting close, could see his head pressed involuntarily into the pillow below him as he arched his back and moaned. Hermione felt an answering quiver in her own tension, already ratcheted up higher than she had ever thought was possible. She ground down on him one more time, reaching for his hips to draw him even tighter to her -

His orgasm, when it hit, ripped through both of them with astounding force. He came with her name on his lips, his body arching helplessly, his head thrown back. The sound drew Hermione’s orgasm from her too, several long seconds of delicious ripples spreading throughout every inch of her and leaving her a limp and sated husk of herself. She collapsed on top of him, trying to be careful of his injuries.

Eventually she rolled both of them to their sides, withdrawing him from inside her. She grabbed her wand and waved the sheets and coverlet up over them, too exhausted to sit up and do it by hand. They lay there for an eternity, just basking in the afterglow.


	28. Chapter 28

Hermione finally turned to look her husband in the face. He lay, utterly relaxed, his hair spread out over the pillow like a mermaid’s and mingling with her own. And in his eyes - tears.

The sight brought her up to one elbow. “Severus?”

He blinked at her. She wiped the tear away from the corner of his eye with a fingertip.

“Sorry,” he said, sounding sheepish. “I don’t usually -”

“I know,” she said, before he had to. “That was . . . but with the higglewumps gone, we’re going to have to end this, aren’t we?”

His dark eyes bored into hers. They were filled with pain and regret. “Have I ever told you what a truly astounding young woman you are, Hermione?” He shot her a tiny, tight smile. “Sometimes I think I go for days or weeks without once ever being able to say what I actually feel. It’s been nice not having to do that with you.”

Hermione kissed his nose. “You’re not answering my question.”

He closed his eyes. “I don’t think I could . . . explain staying married to a muggle-born witch, especially you, when I’m supposed to believe the Dark Lord’s stance on pureblood wizards.” His hand found hers, by touch rather than by sight, and he squeezed her fingers. “There’s also the matter of you being my student, even if you are legally an adult in the muggle world.”

“I don’t give a fig for either of those reasons,” she said. And realized she meant it.

“The Dark Lord will.” He opened his eyes again, pinning her with a look of such tenderness Hermione could feel tears pricking at her own as well. “I don’t want to lose you, Hermione. But this war isn’t about what I want, or what you want, or anything else. It’s about making sure there’s a future, free of He Who Must Not Be Named. And maybe, if we both survive, someday once we’ve won and the rest of the Death Eaters are all rounded up . . .”

He didn’t believe it would happen, Hermione realized, but he was trying to reassure her anyway. And the realization nearly broke her heart. _He’s given up so much, so many years, only to have to sacrifice more . . ._

And then she was crying too, and there was nothing she could do to stop the tears from running down her cheeks. “You have to do it, then,” she forced herself to say. “Divorce me. Right now. You can be honest when He Who Must Not Be Named wants to know.”

He swallowed hard, looking for all the world like he wanted to kiss the tears from her face but knowing he couldn’t. “Hermione-”

“Don’t.” She put her finger against his lips. “Just - put on that indifferent mask, Severus. Tell yourself you don’t love me. Make it convincing.”

He started at the word _love_. “Hermione, I -”

“Don’t say it.” She somehow knew he was about to protest, and she couldn’t bear to hear. “You don’t have to tell me - it will be harder if you do. And I won’t tell you how much I’ve come to love you.”

“I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t pretend with you.”

“And that’s the biggest reason of all we have to do this.” She speared her fingers through the hair at the back of his skull and brought his head up to hers for a brief, scorching kiss. “You can’t afford to not be in control, Severus. I don’t want to be your fatal weakness.”

He nodded, the look on his face so intense Hermione could barely stand it. And then his expression changed, the fire slowly draining out, replaced by the blank indifference and faint sneer he had worn as a shield for almost the entire time Hermione had known him. Even as her chest was aching for what he had to do, Hermione felt a spear of admiration for his incredible skill at hiding himself away. _Maybe someday he won’t need to . . ._

When he spoke, his voice was dull and flat. “Hold up your marriage token, please, Hermione.”

She extended her wrist to him. He retrieved his wand from the mattress beside him and touched the tip to the loop of twine. “ _Severmentus_ ,” he whispered. The twine fell away, cut cleanly where the wand had touched. “Your turn.”

Hermione took his wrist and repeated the spell. The twist of hair dropped to the mattress, now just a knot in a few loose strands of hair, looking just like the strands Hermione cleaned out her hairbrush on a regular basis. They both looked down at it for a long moment, then at each other.

“May I . . . keep the bracelet?” she asked tentatively.

“If you wish.” He waved his wand, and the severed piece of twine flew into Hermione’s bag near the bureau. Another wave, presumably a nonverbal packing spell, and the rest of Hermione’s belongings joined it. He waved a third time - almost as an afterthought - and a clean set of clothes wafted through the air and settled itself on the bed in front of her. “Get yourself dressed, Miss Granger.”

He dressed while she did, with no evidence of stiffness or soreness despite the visible marks on his body. Hermione avoided looking at him as much as she could, afraid if she did, she’d start crying in earnest. All too soon, she was dressed and packed and bundled out into the hallway. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

“Goodbye, Miss Granger,” he said after she put her hand over the doorknob and he cancelled the unlocking spell. “I will see you in class on Monday.”

Hermione looked up at him, drinking in the sight one last time before she went back to her normal life. He met her gaze calmly, impassively, and yet -

“You asked that I tell you,” he said quietly, “if this expression was ever more than just a mask.”

She gulped.

“You should know - for you, it will never _not_ be a mask. I may not ever say it again, but you alone should always be able to tell what I would be feeling if I were free to do so.” He smiled, a wry, tight-lipped smile. “Maybe someday I’ll be able to show my true face to you again.”

Hermione swallowed hard, fighting the urge to cling to him. “I hope so.”

And then, in the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, she turned away and headed back to the Gryffindor commons room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it . . . Hermione and Snape are on their own once again. If you want to read more Hermione/Snape fanfic, and you don't mind more explicit stories, see my other works or hop on over to http://archiveofourown.org/works/1048749 for their follow-up story "Wizard in the Basement, Witch with the Key." It's not a direct sequel, but I'll be keeping the same pace of a chapter a day.


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